


Changed

by K_E_D



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Scott McCall, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Dark, F/M, Feral Behavior, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M, Omega Derek, POV Multiple, Past Abuse, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Past Relationship(s), Post season 3a, Traumatized Derek, Traumatized Stiles, i mean actually wolf omega not a/b/o dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-02-11 04:33:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2053770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_E_D/pseuds/K_E_D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twelve years after defeating the Alpha Pack and the Darach, Scott and his pack are flourishing in Beacon Hills.  He's everything a good Alpha should be and the pack is happy and healthy.  There's been weddings and babies and good memories to last a lifetime.</p><p>But just as life is running smoothly, rumors of bloodthirsty hunters threaten to bring it all down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The McCall Pack

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in the future and completely ignores Seasons 3b & 4 (mostly because I started writing it way back then). I created a separate plot line for those missing years, which will be revealed throughout the story. It's full of angst and tragedy and tears (because let's face it, that's really all I write). Just a warning, Sterek is the only couple that isn't already together when the story begins. They've both been involved in past relationship with original characters, so it'll be a slow build for them.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Any and all comments are welcome :)

**Scott**

 

Trudging over the small wooden bridge, Scott carefully balances three large suitcases in his arms.  Behind him, Allison is easily rolling another large suitcase and their son is huffing and puffing with another one.  He chuckles at the sight as Daniel tries to peer around the monstrosity to see where he’s walking, carefully planting his little feet as they make their way towards the front door.

 

“Danny, are you sure you don’t need help?” Allison asks, her mouth set in a worried pout.

 

The little boy grunts and shifts the heavy bag around so he can see his mother more clearly, a tiny smile lighting up his face.

 

“I got it, Mama.  I’m almost as strong as Daddy now, you’ll see,” he says, heaving the luggage around.  Allison sighs fondly, but keeps one eye on him, just in case.  Once they’re up and over the bridge, they make their way across the cement tiling that leads to the house.  It was a stylish modernized home that sat on an artificial fresh lake.  Most of the walls were completely made up of floor to ceiling windows that looked out on the lake, an in-ground pool, or the forest.  The forest completely surrounded the small lake, barricading the home from the outside world and making it the perfect wolf den.  Scott had been the Beacon Hills Alpha for about 12 years now and he thinks he’s done pretty well for himself.  His pack had grown and spread all across the town and they’d managed to make an ally of a neighboring pack down in Pasadena.

 

Of course, he wasn’t perfect and the few first years of his reign clearly proved that.  If he could change anything, he would go back in time and make sure not to let any pack mates slip through his fingers.  Granted, at the time he didn’t have any control over some of the ones who left, but he could’ve tried harder after senior year to make sure his original emissary stuck around.  As it is, he hasn’t heard from him in 8 years and has no idea where he is or what he’s been doing with his life.  In high school, they thought they’d never be apart.  It was always Scott and Stiles.  You couldn’t have one without the other.

 

But his first 2 years as an Alpha really changed everyone.  He and Stiles slowly drifted apart and during those last few battles with Hale, Stiles was the enemies favorite chew toy.  Scott never blamed him for wanting to leave Beacon Hills, for wanting to forget what happened, but he can’t deny that he still misses him every day.

 

Scott focuses back on the present as the three of them tumble into the neat and tidy home.  The whole pack had stopped for dinner after a week-long vacation together and it was fairly late in the evening.

 

“Danny, you know what time it is?” he calls.  A loud thump comes from behind him as his son drops the suitcase with a very dejected look.

 

“Do I gotta?” he whines.

 

“Ah, what did we say about complaints, young man?  Mama’s gonna get you if you don’t get your little butt in that tub,” he says.  He tried for a stern voice, but failed as Danny’s face brightened in a wide grin and he took off running down the hallway as Allison chased him.  The little pup was faster than her, but after a few minutes, squealing laughter echoes around the house, followed by Allison pretending to eat his tummy.  Scott strolls towards the kitchen to make a light snack, smile still not fading.  It may have taken a while to get to this point, but he was sure as hell glad they made it.

 

As he pulls out the makings for a turkey sandwich, the red blinking light of the answering machine catches his eye.  He presses play all and the automated voice announces that he has 9 new messages.

 

“ _Hello my lovelies_ ,” Lydia sings over the machine.  “ _We’re having a picnic this Saturday and Allison, do not even **try** to give me some lame excuse about family night again, because that is bull and we all know it.  Oh, and Scott, Aiden wants you to bring your lacrosse stick.  Something about a rematch or whatever.  Anyway, we’ll see you in a few days, give Danny kisses for me, love ya!_ ”

 

Scott rolls his eyes and slathers mustard on his growing sandwich.  Allison slumps into the room, frowning at the machine.

 

“Did she just say picnic?” she whines.

 

“Unfortunately,” he sighs.  Allison plops onto one of the bar stools, head resting in her hand.

 

“Did we _not_ just spend an entire week with them?”

 

“It’s Lydia, what do you expect?” he asks, which makes them both smile.  They love her just like the rest of the pack, but she was definitely still a handful.  “Danny asleep already?”

 

“Yeah, poor little guy was so tired he fell asleep in the bathtub,” she says.  Scott nods and adds lettuce and tomato on top of the meat pile.  The automated voice announces the next message.

 

“ _Hey, it’s Isaac.  Brittany just got a call from her mom, saying that she wants to have a meeting with you.  She was having a fit because she couldn’t get a hold of anyone, which…don’t even get me started.  I **told** her we were all going on vacation, but did she hear a word I was saying?  No, of course not.  But anyway, back to the point, she says there are some things she needs to tell you, so just give her a call, okay?  Let me know what’s up when you can._ ”

 

Allison raises her brows at him, which he mimics back at her.  “What do you think that’s about?” she asks.

 

“If it’s about that damn pack in Vegas again, I swear I’m gonna tell her to suck it,” he grumbles.

 

Allison snorts and says, “Oh, that’d go over well.”

 

“I’m not making an alliance with them.  They’re a bunch of egotistical douchebags and their Alpha is a complete nutcase,” he rants.  Allison pats his hand reassuringly.

 

“Now, now, mind your blood pressure.”

 

Scott scowls and bites into his sandwich.  “First, I am not even that old; and second, I’m a werewolf, no high blood pressure over here, honey.”  Allison laughs quietly, which makes him grin like a dope.  The third message begins to play.

 

“ _Scott, it’s Ethan.  Apparently my brother suddenly wants to pick up the ‘art of golf’ or something.  Yeah, don’t even ask me where that’s coming from because I have no idea.  He wants all the guys to go to the course across town for a game this Sunday.  I know, it’s going to suck, but you should come anyway and save me from his arrogance.  I mean, who the hell even plays golf anymore?_ ”  There’s shuffling in the background and Danny’s voice comes over the phone.  “ _Don’t listen to him.  I think it’s gonna be fun, so bring your A-game, man.  See you at Lydia’s!_ ”

 

Scott groans and thumps his head on the counter.

 

“We’re playing golf now?  What the hell?” he moans.  Allison giggles and rubs his head.  He leans into her touch…only to learn that it was a tactic to steal a bite of his sandwich.  “So evil,” he says, pouting.  She grins and pecks him on the lips.  They both sigh as the next message begins.  If it was any more of their friends with ‘super awesome fun plans’ he was going to die of exhaustion.

 

“ _Allison, it’s your father…the one you neglected to inform about this little ‘pack vacation’ you were taking.  Traveling outside of Beacon Hills with a large pack is dangerous.  We’ve discussed this time and again, you can’t just-_ ”

 

Allison presses the skip button with a roll of her eyes.

 

“So,” Scott starts.  “How long of a lecture do you think I’ll be getting?” he asks.  Allison snags one of the chips off his plate and crunches on it, effectively not answering his question.  That was fine.  It’s not like it’d be the first time he and Chris had a lengthy conversation about Allison’s safety.  It would probably involve a threat or two, but nowhere near as violent as when they were teenagers.  He even stopped pointing guns at Scott’s head when Daniel was born.  Scott says it’s progress.

 

“ _Hi, honey, just wanted to check in with you three, see how your trip was.  Hope we’re still on for dinner this Friday so I can hear all about it.  The Grand Canyon, how exciting!  By the way, Allison, I was wondering if you could bring those cheesecake cinnamon thingies you made last time.  Oh my god, they were amazing.  Oh and the Sheriff will be joining us again, so I’m making a vegetarian lasagna.  He’ll complain, but I promised…anyway, dinner on Friday, don’t be late!  Love you!”_

Scott scrunches his nose and takes another bite of his sandwich.

 

“Do you think they’re dating?” Allison asks excitedly.  Scott sighs, not knowing whether that’d be a good or bad thing.  Mr. Stilinski was totally awesome and definitely a part of the pack, Scott made sure to keep him around, but it was weird to think of his mom dating him.  He and Stiles had always wanted it to happen when they were little, so they could be true brothers, but now…well, Stiles isn’t around to soak up all the brotherly goodness with him.  Allison sighs and laces her fingers with his.  “Why don’t you just ask Mr. Stilinski for his number?”

 

“Because it would be weird and awkward after so many years.  I mean, he practically vanished.  If it weren’t for his dad, I wouldn’t even know he was alive.  It’s just…better to let him be, I guess.”

 

“Babe, you’ve told me yourself that you still consider him a part of the pack.  Even if it _is_ awkward at first, don’t you think it would be worth it to give it a try?”

 

Scott sighs and shoves a chip in his mouth.  He knows she has a point, but can he really just call him after so long?  What if he’s mad or hates him for some reason and that’s why they lost touch?  He’s never been sure of why they stopped speaking, it just seemed like they drifted apart.  But what if that’s not the case?  What if he did something to drive him away?  Allison caresses his cheek to gain his attention again.

 

“Just think about it,” she says.  He nods and feeds her another chip as the next message plays.

 

“ _This is Nicole from Pasadena.  I swear I’d have a better chance at winning the lottery than getting you on the phone.  For future reference, if there is a better way to contact you, please let me know.  I’ve kept this alliance for the sake of my daughter and I would like to keep things civil, but you’re making it a bit difficult.  But that’s not why I’m calling.  Another pack that I’m aligned with has recently been decimated by hunters and I’ve been told they may be headed this way.  We should have a pack meeting to discuss this.  Call me when you can._ ”

 

They sit in silence, letting that sink in.  Beacon Hills has been peaceful for a very long time, but rogue hunters could definitely jeopardize that.

 

“I’ll call my dad in the morning to see if he’s heard anything,” Allison says.

 

Scott nods.  “I’ll call Nicole about a meeting,” he sighs.  Scott had agreed, for Isaac’s sake, to make an alliance with the Nelson pack from Pasadena, but their Alpha was…well, to put it bluntly, a total bitch.  He might feel bad for calling her that, if it weren’t for Isaac constantly calling her his ‘monster-in-law’.  It still makes him laugh every time he hears it.  Scott gets along great with Brittany, Isaac’s wife, but her family…yikes, not so much.  Then again, not even _she_ seems to get along with their stuck-up asses, so he’s not alone there.

 

The next message plays and he really hopes it’s something pleasant this time.

 

“ _McCall, it’s Jackson Whittemore.  I know it’s been a long time and we didn’t really part on the best of terms, but my family and I are moving to San Francisco, only a few hours from Beacon Hills.  I heard from a friend that you’re the Alpha now, so congrats on that, I guess.  Anyway, I was wondering if you’d be open to meeting, maybe catch up a bit.  Call me back at this number when you get a chance.  Later_.”

 

They both stare at the phone in shock.

 

“Did I hear that right?” Allison asks.

 

“Did Jackson Whittemore just congratulate me on becoming an Alpha?”

 

“Better question: are you actually going to meet with him?”

 

Scott continues to stare at the phone, honestly not having expected a call from _Jackson Whittemore_ of all people.  They haven’t heard from him for over a decade.  Was he really here on peaceful intentions or was he about to start trouble?

 

“Well, I don’t think I have much of a choice.  He’s a werewolf coming into our territory.  If I don’t meet with him, it’ll look like I can’t protect my own,” he replies.

 

“Alright, but you stick to the rules on this.  Old friend or not, we don’t know what he wants yet, so I’ll come too and we’ll bring one of the betas,” she says firmly.  Scott nods in agreement.  Jackson _did_ mention a family, so his instincts were telling him it would be a friendly meeting, but his instincts have been wrong before…

 

“ _Hey, kid, it’s John…or Mr. Stilinski as you keep calling me even though I’ve told you not to.  Listen…I wasn’t really supposed to mention anything, but I thought I should let you know.  While you were away, Stiles came back and he’s not alone.  Scott, I don’t really wanna talk about this with your answering machine, so if you could call me back, I’d appreciate it.  There’s just...something’s not right and he won’t talk to me about what made him return.  So…call me, okay?_ ”

 

Scott had dropped his sandwich and choked on a chip while listening to that.  He was now chugging a glass of water as Allison rubbed his back.

 

“Holy shit,” he gasps.  Stiles was back!  His best friend in the whole world, original emissary, and brother has returned and he’s kind of freaking out.

 

“What did he mean by ‘he’s not alone’?” Allison asks.

 

“I don’t know.  Girlfriend?  Boyfriend?  _Spouse?_   Oh my god, he could have kids too, by now.  Jesus Christ, I know nothing about his life!”

 

Though he knew how long it’d been, it hadn’t hit him until this moment that Stiles may have a family of his own now.  There might be baby Stiles’ running around and he wouldn’t even know!  Oh god, what would he say when they met again?  Sorry my werewolf shit basically ruined your life?  Sorry you had to become something you hated seeing in the mirror every day just to save my pack?

 

“Scott, sweetie, calm down, everything’s gonna be okay,” Allison murmurs.  He looks to her, grabbing her hand and slowly comes down from his anxiety induced fog.  He doesn’t normally panic, but this was Stiles they were talking about.  The guy who helped him through his parents’ divorce, who taught him how to control his wolf, who fought by his side against a feral Alpha, hunters, a kanima, an Alpha pack, and then Peter Hale _again_.  Scott just wishes he’d been there for Stiles more when everything was going down.  Maybe if he had protected him better, things wouldn’t have worked out the way they have.  Stiles wouldn’t have gone to a college on the other side of the country, wouldn’t have left him all alone with a pack he didn’t know anything about.

 

But again, he’s never blamed Stiles for leaving.  It was safer for him to go.

 

“There’s only one more,” Allison says.  Scott focuses back on the machine as the last message plays.  A part of him wishes that it’ll be Stiles, but another part is terrified to hear his voice.

 

“ _I’m calling for Scott McCall.  I don’t know if you’ll remember me, but my name is Cora Hale.  I know we haven’t spoken in a really long time, but I need some help.  I’m sure you remember my brother, Derek Hale?  Well, I haven’t heard from him in several months…which isn’t uncommon, but he’s had a rough time lately and I’m starting to get worried.  If you hear from him, could you call me?  Even if you don’t, maybe you could ask around?  Look…if you don’t want to help, I understand.  I heard about what my uncle did and I just want to say I’m sorry.  If we’d known, we’d have rushed back to fight with you.  I’ve heard good things about your pack and it sounds like you’re everything an Alpha should be.  Just…if you can look past what Peter did and help me find my brother, I’d be really grateful.  Call me any time, day or night.  Thanks._ ”

 

Scott had been nervously chewing on his bottom lip as he listened.  He thinks of those two often, Derek especially.  They may have gotten off to a bad start, but by the end he was hoping Derek would find some kind of happiness.  If that message was anything to go by, that didn’t work out very well.  When everything with Peter went down, the pack tried to find the Hales again, but they’d disappeared.  Scott new they were out there somewhere, but they were very good at covering their tracks.  He never blamed them for what happened, but some members of his pack did.  Allison was convinced that the siblings knew what Peter was planning and left before they had to deal with it, therefore supposedly sealing Scott’s fate.  But Scott never believed that.  Derek had turned around at the end by agreeing to let Deucalion live and they had a friendly, if short, goodbye.

 

Isaac, however, agreed with Allison.  He tried to convince Scott that Derek had known all along what Jennifer was and what she was doing, but again, Scott didn’t believe it.  Isaac hadn’t been there when Derek had to face off against Jennifer.  He didn’t see how betrayed the man looked, how angry and upset and just _beaten_ he was when they had to fight her.  Honestly, Scott just thought the guy had seriously shitty luck and the universe just liked to fuck with him.  Yes, his misery could be attributed to the decisions he made, which he’ll admit were poor more often than not, but Scott still…he’s isn’t sure…pitied him maybe?  Not that he’d ever say that to the guy’s face, good god, no.

 

“Are you gonna help her?” Allison asks.  Her arms are folded across her chest, indecision warring on her features.  She might argue with him and that’s fine, but he’s already made up his mind.

 

“Yeah, I am,” he replies.  She takes a breath and nods.

 

“If you think that’s the right decision, I’m not gonna argue with you.  Call her tomorrow; see if she can give you anything else to go on.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Sure.  I mean, it’s been 12 years.  We’ve all changed…maybe Derek has too,” she says, shrugging.  He kind of wants to argue that the guy _had_ already changed, but he leaves it, not wanting to fight with her.  He finishes his sandwich and they retreat to the bedroom.  He slips out of his clothes and changes into a pair of sweatpants, while she puts on a worn, soft shirt.  They climb into bed and she curls into his embrace, her back to his front.  As they drift off to sleep, he can’t help but think that they’re peaceful bubble is about to be irreparably damaged.


	2. Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Derek were asked about it, he would say his life hasn't exactly improved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek POV chapter. Warning: mentions of past abuse (not detailed)
> 
> Enjoy :)

**Derek**

 

“Man, you sure you want another one?” the bartender asks.  Derek pushes his empty glass towards him again, urging him to pour another.  The man sighs, but complies with the order.  It took _a lot_ to get a werewolf drunk, but he’s managed to make it happen by adding a pinch of wolfs bane to each glass.  It burned going down and made his stomach roll more often than not, but the after effect was totally worth it.  “So, how long have you been in St. Louis?”

 

Derek scowls at him.  Why did bartenders always try to make conversation with him?  He thought he was sending out plenty of ‘fuck off’ vibes, yet they never seemed to get it.  This man doesn’t seem fazed either, so the only way to get him to go away is to answer him.

 

“A few weeks.”  Derek sips at his laced drink, hoping that the answer will satisfy him.  He had a decent buzz going on and this guy was about to ruin it.

 

“Work or pleasure?”

 

Derek glares at him, which at least earns him a wary step back.

 

“Neither,” he grunts.  The bartender is thankfully distracted by a new customer after that.  The person sits down on the stool next to him.  The bar really isn’t that full, there wasn’t any reason this guy had to sit that fucking close to him.  If he’s about to be hit on again, he’s just gonna have to find a different bar.  Or maybe just go to the package store and buy his own booze to drink at home.  He had thought of doing that earlier, but didn’t want to be alone in his tiny hotel room any more.

 

“Scotch sour, please,” the man says.  Derek tenses, recognizing the voice, having heard it order that same drink over a dozen times.

 

“Derek Hale,” he chuckles.  Derek doesn’t look at him, just places his glass gently back on the counter.  The bartender watches them curiously as he mixes the man’s drink.  Probably realizing Derek handed over a fake ID.  But he’s not even worried about that right now.  “You are not an easy man to find, that’s for sure.”  Derek tries to quietly get off his stool and leave, but Victor’s hand clamps down on his shoulder and forces him to sit.  “What’s the rush, buddy?  Have a drink with me for old times’ sake.”

 

“Rather not,” he grunts.

 

“Oh, don’t be like that.  Live a little, Hale!  Besides, we have so much catching up to do.  Tell me, what have you been doing these past few months?” he asks.  Derek finally looks over at him, his heart pounding as he takes him in.  He’s just as ripped as before, bigger than Derek in every way.  Victor has hated him since the day they met and Derek vice versa.  The dark-skinned man just grins at him, waiting for an answer.  Derek knows his patience won’t last long, but he doesn’t plan on giving him any answers.  Why the fuck should he?  He’s only one out of many wolves that have been making his life a living hell and he has nothing to say to him.   Derek had thought life couldn’t be any worse than how it was in Beacon Hills, but he was sorely mistaken.

 

“You don’t wanna talk, then I suggest you listen carefully.  Now that I’ve found you, you’re going to come peacefully.  No running away, no making a scene, just a nice walk out of this bar.  After we finish our drinks, of course.  You know why I’ve tracked you down, right?” he asks, leaning closer.  “Mark wants to say hi,” he whispers.  Derek flinches at the name and pounds back his drink.  Victor chuckles at his reaction, earning him a wary glance from the bartender as he sets his drink down.

 

“Can I get anything else for you guys?” he asks.  Derek almost wants to beg him for help, but he’s only human and no match for the wolf beside him.  He shakes his head, but the bartender lingers near them, seemingly just cleaning glasses.

 

“Oh, by the way Hale, I’ve brought a friend,” Victor says.  As if on cue, another man sits to his left.

 

“How’s it goin’ Hale?”

 

Derek whips his head around to see another wolf from his past grinning at him.  He looks back and forth between them, not understanding how his luck could be this _bad_.  How do they even know each other?  They’re from different cities, in different states, from packs that didn’t communicate.  Then again, he hasn’t seen them in a while.  Perhaps their Alphas know each other now.

 

“If you’re wondering how we know each other,” Devin starts.  “Jaden called every pack he knows from Philly to Vegas, just so we could track you down and kill you.  But after hearing about this Mark fella, we’ve decided to let him have you instead.  I’m just here as back-up,” he says.

 

“But Jaden said I was free to go.  I thought we had a deal.  I stay out of Pennsylvania and he leaves us alone.”

 

“I think you misunderstood, Derek.  Jaden made a deal with _Cora_ , not you,” Devin says, grinning.  “And the best part?  She didn’t even fight the agreement,” he whispers.  Derek doesn’t want to believe that, but his sister had a family of her own she needed to protect now.  She couldn’t risk her no-good older brother fucking her life up any more.  Derek nods in understanding, but there’s no way in hell he’s about to go with them.  It was hard enough getting away from Mark once.  He didn’t think he had it in him to do it again.  Tensing his body, he swings at Devin first, knowing he isn’t as strong as Victor.  Unfortunately, he _is_ stronger than Derek, so the punch doesn’t do much and he’s quickly thrown to the floor.  He’s being pummeled from all sides for several minutes, until the entire crowd is converging on them to break them apart.  Derek would be staring in shock if he weren’t bleeding all over the floor.

 

The entire bar had been filled with werewolves and he’d had no idea.  This is just further proof of how weak his senses have become.  Four wolves are struggling to keep Victor and Devin in one place and two more are guarding him where he lies on the floor.  He notices that the bartender is standing off to the side and now that he’s _really_ looking, he has that same strange aura around him that Deaton and a certain loud-mouthed boy always had.  The man must be this pack’s emissary, which means he knew what he was the moment he walked in.  Derek sighs, wondering how this pack will respond to all of this.  They may as well kill him to be honest.  It would be better than being dragged back to Mark.

 

“Enough!”

 

All the wolves, himself included, cringe at the power that flows from the word.  A pretty blonde woman emerges from the back of the room, her eyes briefly flashing an Alpha red.

 

“How dare you come into _my_ town without permission.  I allowed the Omega because he wasn’t a threat, but you two,” she says, glaring at Victor and Devin.  “You betas better have a damn good reason for disrupting my night out.”

 

“We just came to retrieve the Omega.  We meant no disrespect, ma’am,” Devin says, bowing his head.  Derek notices he doesn’t show his neck in submission, but is still trying to be respectful.  He might as well have just slapped the woman in the face and she isn’t lost on the gesture.  She crosses her arms and stares him down, but he simply trains his gaze on the floor instead.

 

“Listen here, boys.  You go back to your Alphas and tell them I _do not_ appreciate them sending their betas into my territory without warning,” she says.  The Alpha steps closer to them, a mere few feet away as she lets her power grow around them.  “And you tell them, that if it _ever_ happens again, the next betas won’t be lucky enough to walk away.”

 

Her betas release them, but they don’t move to leave.

 

“What about the Omega?” Victor asks.  The Alpha glances at him, where he still sits on the floor between her other betas.  He doesn’t fight the urge to submit, readily showing her his neck.

 

“As of now, this Omega is under my protection.  Any harm that comes to him while he’s in either St. Louis, Springfield, or Columbia will be seen as a direct attack against me and my pack.  Now, I suggest you leave before my patience runs out.”  Devin is already heading for the door, but Victor continues to linger, glaring at Derek.

 

“This isn’t over, Hale.  I know you.  This pack may be taking you in now, but you’ll run just like you always do,” he says and then crouches to get in his face.  The betas around him tense, but don’t push him away.  “And when you _do_ run,” he says lowly, “Trust me to be there to rip your throat out.”  Victor stands then and marches out of the bar, leaving Derek in a room full of strange wolves and a Druid.  This was so not how he wanted this night to end.  The Alpha snaps her fingers and the betas beside him gently help him to his feet.  He doesn’t understand why she would save him, let alone claim him under her protection.

 

She approaches him and he’s embarrassed to admit he cringed away from her slightly.  Perfect blonde eyebrows rise in surprise and she holds her hands out in a placating manner and moves slower.  Derek honestly can’t help his fearful reaction to her, an Alpha.  He hasn’t met very many friendly wolves in the past 10 years or even before that really, and his lowly status isn’t helping anything.

 

“I won’t hurt you.  There’s no need to be afraid,” she says.

 

“No offense, but I’ve heard that before,” he says.  She nods in understanding and keeps her distance.

 

“Ed,” she calls.  The bartender steps forward.  “Get some ice for his face and some strong drinks,” she says.  He nods and rushes off behind the bar.  “My name is Leslie.  I think we should have a chat, Derek,” she says.  He wonders for a moment how she knew his name, but then realizes she was probably listening to his conversation with Devin and Victor.  Though she put it as a friendly suggestion, he doesn’t see he has much choice.  If he left now, it may offend her, which he really doesn’t want to do.  She may be nice now, but she could change her mind at any moment and kill him.

 

Leslie leads him over to a small corner table and motions for him to sit.

 

“Now Derek, are you an Omega by choice?” she asks.  He fidgets, not knowing exactly how to answer that.  “If that’s the case, I’d like to advise you that it’s not a wise choice.”  Derek nods, having already known that.  “Will you tell me why two different packs are trying to kill you?” she asks.  Ed approaches then with ice, which he declines and two bright green drinks that he sets in front of them.  He adds a small pinch of wolfs bane to each glass, stirs, and then sits down with them.

 

“I’ve got some herbs that’ll quicken the healing process, if you want,” he offers.  Derek thinks about it for all of two seconds, before quietly declining that as well.  He sorely misses how fast he healed as an Alpha, or hell even as a Beta.  The healing process is almost as slow as a human’s now and he absolutely hates it.  But without a pack, there isn’t much he can do about it.  Leslie sips at her drink, which prompts him to do the same.  He’s never had whatever it is, but it’s very strong and has a nice burn to it.

 

“Am I going to get an answer, Derek?” she asks.  Oh right, she’d asked why he was being hunted.  How the fuck was he supposed to answer that?  Once again, his love life destroyed everything he had, but there’s no way he’s going to tell this stranger about it.

 

“It’s…complicated,” he sighs.

 

“Obviously.  Did you know they were after you when you came into my town?” she asks, squinting at him.

 

“One of them, yes,” he answers.  She nods, seemingly satisfied with that.

 

“And why didn’t you ask permission before crossing the border?”

 

“I didn’t realize it was taken,” he says.  That seems to surprise her.

 

“You couldn’t sense my presence?” she asks.  Derek is officially feeling embarrassed and caged in.  He doesn’t answer and simply sips his drink.  Leslie tilts her head curiously.  “I’ll admit I’ve never met an Omega before.  It must be difficult to stay safe if you can’t even sense other wolves,” she says.  Again, he remains quiet.  He glances at the exit, wondering if he could move fast enough before her betas caught him.

 

“I wouldn’t suggest running,” Ed says.  “As long as you stay within St. Louis, Springfield, or Columbia, you’re safe.”

 

“It’s true.  I’ve claimed you under my protection.  But if you leave my territory, I have no pull over your safety.”

 

“I can protect myself,” he retorts.  Leslie sighs and shakes her head at him.

 

“I’ll pretend for both our sakes that you didn’t just lie to me,” she says and then downs the rest of her drink.  “Where do you plan on going?”

 

Derek scowls and finishes his drink as well.  “Why should I tell you that?”

 

“You don’t have to.  I just figured I could let you know which cities to avoid,” she says.  Derek is once again surprised by the kindness she’s offering.

 

“Um…honestly, I don’t know where to go next,” he admits.  Leslie nods in understanding.

 

“Well, if you’re set on leaving, I’ll make a list of packs I know that are willing to take in-”

 

“No, no packs,” he interrupts.

 

“But you won’t survive on your own,” she says, confused.

 

“I’ve made it this far,” he says, shrugging.  She sighs again and then pulls out a pen and pad.

 

“Fine, let me help you at least decide on where to go,” she says.  Her tone made it clear she wouldn’t take no for an answer, so he let her scribble away.

 

“Have you been to New York?” she asks.

 

“Yeah, I don’t think they’ll want me back,” he murmurs.  He and Laura had lived there for a few years and the Alpha that ran the city was involved with the mob.  Derek _may_ have gotten on her bad side while Laura went back to Beacon Hills…

 

“Ah, so you’ve met Angelica I take it.  She’s a real piece of work, that one,” Leslie mutters.  “How about Los Angeles?  No one runs the city and the closest pack is in Pasadena,” she says.  He shrugs and she writes down L.A. on the list of possibilities.  “Do you prefer cities or small towns?”

 

“Either, though it’s easier to get lost in a city.”  She nods in agreement.

 

“I’m aligned with the pack that runs Chicago, I could ask…” she trails off.  Derek is pretty sure he stopped breathing.  She was aligned with them?  He glances at the exit again, but the betas have spread out around the room.  They’re all relaxed and chatting amongst themselves, so if they’re distracted enough-

 

“Are you okay?  You like you’re gonna be sick, man,” Ed says, reaching a hand towards his shoulder.  Derek recoils from him and scrambles out of the booth, only to be stopped by Leslie grabbing his arm.

 

“Wait, don’t go,” she says.  “The Mark they were talking about earlier…that isn’t Mark Stewart is it?” she asks, eyes widening.  Derek holds very still in her grip, keeping his eyes on the wall behind her head.  He’d already submitted to her, so she shouldn’t need reassurance.  “What’d he do to you?” she whispers, her tone still one of shock.  He glances at her and tries to wiggle out of her grasp.

 

“Let me go,” he says.  “Please,” he adds as an afterthought.

 

“I…I’m sorry, I don’t mean to scare you, but if Mark isn’t who I think he is, please tell me.  I make it a habit not to be aligned with packs with bad reputations,” she says.  Derek’s heart is pounding and he has no idea what he should do.  He doesn’t trust her and if she’s with Mark, then she might tell him that he was here.  “Derek, I won’t tell him where you are, if that’s what you’re worried about.  I promised to protect you and I keep my promises, _always_ ,” she says.  He looks down at her honest and open expression and feels himself giving in.

 

“He’s not a good Alpha.  That’s all I’m willing to tell you,” he says.  She nods, but still doesn’t back away until he fidgets again.  Leslie quickly drops her hand and gently prods him to sit with them.

 

“So, the large beta…he’s one of Mark’s?” she asks.  Derek sighs and nods, figuring she deserves to know that much.  Leslie whips out her pen again and begins to list more cities.  “You could go to Houston.  There’s a pack there, but they don’t really run the city.  It’s a small family and they keep to themselves,” she says.  He shrugs and she jots it down.  After thinking for a few moments, she tilts her head, but avoids his gaze.  “You haven’t been to Philadelphia by any chance, have you?” she asks.  Derek’s answer is immediate.

 

“Maybe I should leave,” he says.  Leslies sighs and rubs her temple.

 

“You’re the Omega that killed her son?” she asks.

 

“I wasn’t an Omega then,” he snaps.  She straightens at his tone, but he looks away from her piercing gaze.

 

“You know, they still don’t know why you did it,” she says.  Derek folds his arms and refuses to give an explanation.  There wasn’t any point.  He’d told people what happened back then and no one had believed him.  Not even his _sister_ believed him.  Looking back now, he wonders if she only said that to keep her family safe.  “Jaden…isn’t like Mark is he?”

 

“No,” he sighs.  “He was a nice man.”  Jaden had taken him and Cora under their wing.  He’d even been thrilled when Derek started dating his son, Jacob.  Of course, it didn’t take long for him to realize why _Jacob_ couldn’t keep a boyfriend.  He should have ran when he found out that all of Jacob’s previous lovers had mysteriously died, but he really liked the guy.  Derek won’t say he loved him because it’s a foreign concept by now.  He’s not sure he’s ever really felt true love.

 

“But their son…?” Leslie prompts.  Derek clenches his jaw and glares at the table.  “Was he like Mark?”

 

“Either I need to leave or you need to stop asking about this,” Derek snaps, scowling at her.  She flashes her eyes and he presses further back into his seat.

 

“Watch your tone, boy.  You are a guest in my home,” she says, power radiating through her.  Derek holds his breath and goes rigid, expecting the first blow to come.  Hastily showing his neck again, he desperately hopes his submission will calm her.  He wants to kick himself for his stupidity.  Being on his own for a year has made him forget the rules he set forth for himself.  Rule number one: You never raise your voice to an Alpha.  Derek keeps his breathing quiet, but he can’t help the shallowness of it.

 

“Derek…” Leslie calls quietly.  He doesn’t dare move.  Rule two: Do not stop submitting until told to.  “Derek,” she calls again.  A cool hand grazes his neck and he tries not to flinch, but fails.  “I’m sorry.  You can relax now,” she says.  She trails her fingers over his pulse point, accepting his submission.  He slowly regains his breath as his training kicks in, the rules bubbling up after so long.  Rule three: Never look the Alpha directly in the eye.  He’d massively failed that one today, but he can fix it now.  _I can fix it_.

 

“Les, maybe I should take over,” Ed mutters.  The Alpha sighs and gets up from her seat.

 

“Let me know if you need anything,” she says.  Derek remains silent as she walks away, keeping her position in his mind at all times.  She sits down with a pretty brunette and by their body language, he can tell the woman is Leslie’s mate.  _Must be nice_.

 

“So, Derek, I’m Ed as you know, pack emissary,” Ed says, sliding into Leslie’s seat.  He grins and says “Nice to meet you.”  Derek raises a brow, but nods in acknowledgement.  Without the Alpha so close, it’s easier to breathe, but he’s still wary of this guy.  He knows from personal experience that emissaries can be powerful, but so far the one’s he’s met have been kind (not counting the one he slept with that turned out to be a serial killer).  Sketchy and secretive, but kind nonetheless.  Ed looks over the list and taps his pen while he thinks.  “So far we’ve got L.A. and Houston.  Ever been to Phoenix?  It’s busy and crowded, but it’s a good place to get lost if you really want that.  There’s a small pack there, but they keep to themselves,” he says.  He writes down the city, without waiting for a shrug, but it’s fine by him.  The faster this gets done, the faster he can get out of here.

 

They sit in silence for a while as Ed thinks.  Derek takes a look around at the rest of the pack, noticing that there were many more females than males.  Though werewolves tend to have a very matriarchal background, it’s rare for so many women to be in one pack.

 

Ed hums to himself and chews on his pen.  “Okay, I know Leslie put Houston as a possibility, but you want to avoid other packs at all costs right?” he asks.

 

“Yes,” Derek grumbles.

 

Ed shakes his head at that.  “Are you sure about that?  Because I know I’m not a creature of the night and all, but it’s usually better for you guys to travel in groups, ya know _packs_.  Safety and strength in numbers, am I right?”

 

“I’m aware of that, thank you,” Derek mutters.  Ed glances up at him and with a roll of his eyes, scratches Houston off the list.

 

“Fine, seeing as how you’re set on being a ‘lone wolf’, I’d advise you to stay out of Texas all together.  That state, as far as I know, has the most wolf packs and more than half ain’t too friendly.  So, that leaves us with L.A. and Phoenix,” he says.  He scratches his head and then snaps his fingers excitedly.  “Hey!  I’ve got the perfect place.  Hawaii!”

 

Derek frowns.  “I’m not going to Hawaii.”

 

“What?  Why not?  It’d be perfect.  I highly doubt there are any wolves all the way out there.”

 

“No.”

 

Ed frowns back at him, his momentary excitement squashed.  Derek almost wants to smile because he definitely reminds him of another emissary.  But then he remembers the rumors he’s heard and quickly banishes any thoughts of him and Beacon Hills from his mind.

 

“Hey…you with me?” Ed asks softly.  Derek blinks and the guy is staring at him all intently, which is just annoying.  “Where’d you go, man?  Were you thinking of a place?”

 

“No, just keep going, I’m listening,” Derek replies.  Ed nods after a moment and glances down at his paper.

 

“You could go to Arkansas.  I haven’t heard of any wolves setting up camp there, but they could just be lying low,” he says and then writes down the entire state of Arkansas.  If there really _were_ no wolves there, it’d be a good choice.  But it still felt a little too close to Chicago for his liking.

 

“Something closer to the west coast,” he says.

 

“Alright, no prob,” Ed murmurs and crosses off Arkansas.  “I don’t think there’s anyone in Wyoming, but again, I don’t know everything,” he says and writes it down.  From there, he just keeps going, not waiting for Derek’s input.  But he doesn’t really mind.  Ed seems to know which places will be safer.  Then again, they could just be lying to him…

 

Although, Leslie’s claim of protection has him thinking that maybe he’s found a nice pack for once.  He’s actually tempted to hang around, but he wants to put as much space between him and Chicago as possible.

 

“There are a few packs in Colorado, but as long as you stay in the southwest, you’ll be fine.  I’m not even gonna _suggest_ Idaho because there’s only one pack there and they think they own the whole goddamn state,” Ed scoffs.  “Montana would be good if you wanna get _super_ lost.  I ain’t kiddin’.   I couldn’t find my way around that place at all.  Almost froze to death up in some mountains and then ended up in Canada somehow.  But there’s only one pack there.  I passed them on my way to those _terrible awful_ mountains and they were pretty nice.  But I bet you could find your way around and I doubt those city boys that are chasin’ you will venture out into the snow,” he says.  Derek’s lips twitch at his ranting, but it fades quickly.  He’s really missing that kid right now.

 

“Oh!  And whatever you do, do _not_ go to Nevada.  I mean, I would even go so far as to tell you to avoid passing through.  Those Vegas and Reno packs are _insane_.  You go into one of those cities, you’ll be dead within the week, trust me,” he says, shaking his head.  He even writes Nevada down, just to circle it and put a giant line through it.  Then under it he writes in all caps VEGAS AND RENO = NO.  “That should be enough of a warning,” he mutters, nodding to himself.  Derek huffs, which gets him a grin.

 

“New Mexico’s a nice place-”

 

“Yeah, if you don’t mind frying in the fucking desert,” one of the betas interrupts.  She’s a young girl, probably in her teens and she looks like Leslie in every way, except for her brunette hair.

 

“No one asked you, Alexa,” Ed retorts, throwing a stray peanut shell her way.  Much to Derek’s surprise she flips him off and then starts chatting with another beta again.  “You see that?  No respect around here,” Ed sighs, shaking his head.  They were definitely a close-knit pack.  It was a nice thing to see after so long.  “ _Anyway_ , where was I?  Oh right, New Mexico, nice place.  Stay anywhere on the east side and you shouldn’t have any trouble.  Now, as for that L.A. idea, I’d say you’re better off bunking down somewhere between there and San Francisco.  Even though it’s one of the biggest states, it’s only got 2 packs, which really doesn’t-”

 

“ _Two_ packs?  I thought it was just Pasadena?” Derek cuts in.

 

“Well yeah, Pasadena’s taken, but there’s a little town in San Francisco too.  One of those little suburb places, ya know?”

 

Derek’s heart clenches at the mere idea.  There’s no way he means Beacon Hills.  He was told there were no survivors.

 

“Do you know the name of the town or its Alpha?”

 

“Uh…no, but I can find out for you,” Ed replies, brow raised.

 

“Yeah, would you?” he asks.  He pulls out his phone and scans through his contacts.  He’s tried the old numbers multiple times without success, even called the police station one time.  It was easy to find out that the Sheriff was alive, but that’s all the deputy would tell him.

 

“I’ll ask Leslie if she knows anything,” Ed mutters when it’s clear Derek is done with the conversation.  He scrolls down and hovers over a number he’s avoided for months.  If there was any time to call, it would be now, he supposes.

 

It rings for a while, until the voicemail picks up.

 

“ _This is Cora Hale, I can’t come to the phone right now, please leave a message after the tone.  If this is an emergency please call Joe Morris at…”_

Derek listens patiently as she rattles off the number for her husband.  He figures he’ll leave a message-

 

_“If this is about important business, please call Jaden Robinson at-”_

 

Derek jams the end call button and drops the phone on the table.  She was still listing the Philadelphia Alpha as the number for pack business, which meant she was still his beta.  Why could nothing ever go right?  He figured after he told her what happened with Jacob, the Alpha’s son, she’d sever all contact with them.  But _obviously_ , he’d been wrong, yet again.  Derek stands, alerting the pack of his presence again, but that’s not really important right now.  What _is_ important was that if Cora was still on good terms with Jaden, he’ll have all her phones tapped…which means the caller ID would have picked up his number.

 

He finds a trash bin and begins taking the phone apart, piece by piece.  Ed cautiously saunters up to him.

 

“Everything okay, man?” he asks.  Derek finishes destroying the cellphone and chucks it all in the garbage.

 

“Everything’s fine,” he grunts.  “Did you find out about that pack?”

 

Ed looks between him and the bin for a moment, but eventually nods.

 

“Yeah, the town is Beacon Hills-”

 

“You’re sure?”

 

“Yeah, I’m sure, man.  But why are you even asking?  I thought you wanted to stay away from other wolves?”

 

“This one’s different.  Do you know the Alpha’s name?” he asks.  Derek was getting anxious again, but couldn’t help it.  If they were alive, then maybe he could hide there for a while.  That is, if they even let him in.  Probably sensing his discomfort, Leslie slowly approaches.  Derek quickly looks to the floor, training rearing back up.

 

“I don’t know the Alpha’s name, but I do have a number from a few years ago.  A friend suggested I make an alliance with them, but I just never got around to it,” she says.  Derek nods and remains silent.  Rule four: Do not speak unless specifically told to.  He hears her sigh and can see her shoes move closer.  It’s tempting to back away, but he knows better.  Rule five: Do not act like prey after submitting.  He’d learned many times that if he ran or tried to move away at all, he’d be punished.  The severity would depend on how far he got.  Considering he was running from an Alpha more often than not, he didn’t make it very far, but every once in a while the betas were allowed to play.  The first time they chased him, he went all out, going as far as he could.  It’s safe to say he learned his lesson and never did it again.

 

“Derek…” she says, stepping closer.  “It’s alright.  You don’t have to keep submitting to me.  I can see you’ve taught yourself how to act and react around an angry Alpha, but I’m not like that, I promise.”

 

He wants to look up at her, but doesn’t dare.  She sighs again and gently grips his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes.

 

“I am terribly sorry for what life has thrown at you.  I wish you would stay here.  I could protect you and I think you’d be happy with us…but I can see you’re not one to stay in one place for too long.  I hope whatever you’re looking for is in Beacon Hills,” she says.  She then hands him a small slip of paper and pats his cheek just like a mother…though she’s nowhere near old enough to be a mother to him.  Leslie turns away after that and returns to the table with her mate.  Ed has been awkwardly standing by and keeps giving him sad little glances, which just makes him embarrassed.  He’s always been stronger than this, always been able to bounce back from things.  But after one failure after another, somewhere along the way he just got tired of fighting back.

 

Derek looks at the piece of paper, a phone number neatly printed on it.

 

“Need a phone?” Ed asks.  Derek nods and the man leads him to the other side of the room, where a payphone hangs on the wall.  He pats his pockets, but doesn’t have any change.

 

“Ah, here you go,” Ed says, pulling out an entire handful of quarters.  He places them in a shot glass that rests on top of the tiny booth and nods encouragingly at him.  Derek grunts a thank you and shoves a few into the machine.

 

He picks up the receiver…only to put it back down.  What if it wasn’t who he was hoping for?  What if it was actually a new pack he’d never heard of?  After picking it up and putting it down three more times, Ed scoffs at him.

 

“Dude, would you like me to dial?  Would that make it easier?” he asks.

 

“No,” he snaps.  Ed throws his hands up with a sigh, but backs off a little.  Okay, he just had to get it over with.  When he picks it up this time, he manages to dial, but only a few numbers before he’s chickening out again and slamming the phone back into its holder.

 

“Oh my _god_ , move, I’ll do it,” Ed grumbles.  He picks up the phone and before Derek can protest, he’s dialing and handing over the receiver.  “Congratulations, it’s ringing,” he says.  Derek glares at him and roughly grabs the receiver, but Ed simply rolls his eyes.  Yeah, the guy definitely reminded him of someone.  He listens to it ring and he couldn’t hang up even if he wanted to because Ed is now blocking the entire machine.  It rings and rings, until he gets the voicemail.

 

“ _You’ve reached the McCall residence.  We’re probably out with friends, but we’ll try **super**_ _hard to call you back later.  No really, we will.”_

 

The beep sounds and Derek shoves Ed out of the way to hang up the phone.  He stares at it for a few minutes, heart pounding loud in his ears.  _The McCall residence_.  This meant Scott was alive; he wasn’t taken out by hunters.

 

“Whoa, dude, you alright?” Ed asks.  Now that he knew he was alive, should he really be going there?  He doesn’t want to bring his problems to Scott, but at the same time he needs to feel _safe_.  But going back to Beacon Hills of all places…  “Derek, maybe you should sit down, you’re lookin’ a little pale,” Ed says.  Derek lets him lead him to a chair as his brain tries to figure out the best option.  So much had happened there and he left for a reason.  It held too many reminders, too many memories he’d rather forget.  Plus, he’d heard about Peter years after Scott dealt with him.  He’s not sure of the details, but he knows they defeated him, that his uncle was truly dead this time. 

 

How is he even supposed to ask Scott for sanctuary when it’s _his_ family’s fault the kid’s life got all fucked up?  He wishes he could talk to Cora, she’d know what to do.

 

“So…I take it you know this pack?” Ed asks.

 

“Yeah, I…thought they were dead,” he replies.

 

“Who told you that?”

 

Derek frowns and doesn’t answer, which is apparently, answer enough because Ed nods like he gets it.

 

“Are you gonna go there?”

 

Derek sighs and says, “I don’t know.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“There’s a lot of history there.  I’m not sure the Alpha will be very welcoming.”

 

“Not welcoming, like kill you on sight?  Or not welcoming, slam the door in your face?”

 

“Most likely the second one.”

 

“Then, man, I say you take that risk.  What do you got to lose?”

 

Derek glances up at him, realizing he may have a point.  Either Scott lets him stay and he’s safe for a while, or he shuts him out and he’s back where he started.  At least if he tries, there’s a chance he’ll survive.

 

“Thanks Ed, I think I’ll do that,” he says.  Ed positively beams and claps a hand on his shoulder.  At a glare, he’s quick to retract it.  “Right, no touching,” he mutters.  It’s so similar to many moments with Stiles that it makes him smile, which hasn’t happened in a very long time.  His time in St. Louis may have started out completely terrible, but he’s glad he met this pack.  They were good people and brave enough to have taken in a targeted Omega.

 

“So, Derek,” Leslie starts, coming up to their table.  He quickly looks to the floor, which seems to displease her, but he doesn’t know what else to do.  “You’re going to Beacon Hills, then?”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” he mutters.  Before meeting Mark, he had never been this polite to people.  He doesn’t know whether to thank him for it, or kill him.

 

“Derek, may I ask you something?”

 

“Anything,” he replies.  Sure, she can ask, but that doesn’t mean he’ll give an answer.

 

“Almost 20 years ago, I met a very powerful Alpha by the name of Talia,” she says quietly.  Derek glances up, shocked.  “Any relation to you?”  He can only nod, his voice having left him.  “I took you in because all those years ago, when _I_ was on the run, she gave me salvation.  I was barely out of high school and my original pack, my family…well, let’s just say they weren’t very nice.  I recognize the same fear in you that I had back then.  This is why I’m letting you know that if you find yourself in danger, with no way out, my door is always open.”  Leslie then bends and places a gentle kiss on top of his head.  Without thinking, he surges up and wraps her in a tight hug.  She doesn’t even hesitate to embrace him back, which is the only reason he didn’t panic after having done it.

 

“Thank you,” he mumbles.

 

“There’s no need to thank me, Derek,” she says, pulling away to look at him.  “I hope your short time with us leaves an impression.  Not all Alphas are cruel.  I learned a lot from Talia and I’m sure if you remember how she led a pack, the world won’t be such a scary place.”  Derek swallows around the lump in his throat and steps out of her embrace.  She gives him a small smile and pats his arm.  “Be safe, Derek,” she says and then returns to her mate.

 

Ed clears his throat and hands him the slip of paper with Scott’s number on.  Looking at it, there’s been a second number scribbled underneath it.

 

“Just in case, ya know, you need help or whatever,” he mumbles, shuffling his feet.  Derek nods and they shake hands for a goodbye.  “Oh, by the way, are you driving or flying?”

 

Derek raises a brow because that answer should be obvious.

 

“Right, you wolves hate flying,” he mutters.  “Since you’re gonna drive all that way, will you at least take some herbs?  I can whip some stuff up really fast.”  Derek nods, just so Ed will stop worrying so much.  Having people be worried about him is definitely a new sensation.  He’s not completely sure he likes it, but he’s not gonna complain either.  After standing around for a good five minutes, Ed comes rushing out from the back room with a small sack filled with who knew what.

 

“Okay, so there’s everything from healing remedies to protection stones in here.  I’ve written down instructions and separated everything into small pouches.  Do _not_ mix them in any way, unless a trusted druid tells you it’s safe,” he says, pointing emphatically.  Derek huffs and gratefully takes the bag, which is fairly light, but some of the items clink together when he shifts it.

 

Derek finally makes his way to the door, getting a few waves as he leaves.  Hopefully in a few years, if he’s still alive, he’ll call or even visit them again.  It would be nice to have allies again.

 

It’s still early morning, the sun not raised yet when he climbs into his Camaro.  The drive to Beacon Hills will take him at least 3 days, so he doesn’t waste any time and leaves immediately.  He’ll admit he’s nervous about leaving Leslie’s territory, but like he told her before, he’s made it this far and he doesn’t plan on stopping now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That journey to BH is gonna suck, just in case anyone was wondering.
> 
> But anyway, the next chapter will be Stiles POV
> 
> Any and all comments are welcome :)


	3. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles came home and he wasn't alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a fairly short chapter, but I needed to introduce some people. Hope you enjoy :)

**Stiles**

 

“Hey, kid, wake up.”

 

Stiles groans as his father’s voice pushes through his whisky addled brain.  He blinks a few times, the soft lighting stabbing into his eyes making him wince.

 

“What?” he grumbles.  His dad sighs and rips the blanket off him, making him whine at the cold air.

 

“It’s nine in the morning.  We’re all going for breakfast, so get up, wash up, and meet us in the car,” he says.  He all but yelled it, more irritated than Stiles has seen him in a long time.  The mention of ‘us’ and ‘we’ have him bolting upright, ignoring the massive hangover he has.

 

“Shit, where is she?  What happened?” he asks.  Memories of last night are hazy, but he thinks he might have snapped at her and made her cry.  His dad sighs and shakes his head.

 

“You were a drunken jerk, like you’ve been this entire week.  Are you gonna tell me what happened now?”

 

Stiles cringes and swallows, his throat feeling like sandpaper.  “No,” he sighs.  He’s not gonna talk about it, _ever_.  There wouldn’t be any point.  What’s done is done.  His dad stares for a few more minutes, before giving up and telling him to get ready for breakfast.  Stiles is tempted to stay on the couch and sleep the day away, but he knows he should get up and face his responsibilities.  A few weeks ago, he didn’t have any problem doing that, but everything was different now.

 

He carefully moves off the couch, rubbing at his scalp and seriously needing some aspirin.  On his way towards the bathroom, the downstairs bedroom door creaks open.  Stiles freezes mid-step as familiar amber eyes peek out at him.  He doesn’t know what to say or what to do.  This used to be so easy.  Stiles never had a problem scooping her up into his arms and peppering her with tiny kisses.  But even that has changed now.  It’s impossible to touch her without having a complete meltdown, which is why he drinks.  The alcohol numbs it all and he doesn’t have to think of everything they’ve lost, of how much he’s failed her.

 

“Um…we’re gonna go to breakfast.  W-would you like that, baby girl?” he asks, cursing the tears that well up.  She quietly nods, but doesn’t move any closer to him.  “PopPop will help you get dressed, okay?”  Again, he only receives a quiet nod before she silently closes the door.  Stiles presses his lips together and takes a breath, shoving the overwhelming emotions away.  It wasn’t time to think of how she hated him, or how she feared him, or how it’s only them now.  Well, them and his dad-

 

“You alright, kid?”

 

Stiles jumps and turns to find his dad leaning against the wall, eyes soft with concern.

 

“Yeah, just…” he trails off.  Once again, he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to explain what happened, or why his own daughter won’t speak to him.  “Can you get her ready?” he asks, glaring at the floor.  The man just nods and pats his shoulder on the way into the guest bedroom.  Stiles takes a few minutes to collect himself in the bathroom and wash up a bit.  Without thinking, he slips out of the room in just a towel for a change of clothes.

 

“Oh my god…Stiles,” his dad breathes.  He hadn’t seen him standing by the stairs and curses.  Stiles had been _so_ careful about hiding the scars this entire week.  “Son, what the hell happened?”

 

His dad had already known about the scars on his legs because he’d gotten those during the last Beacon Hills battle.  But this is the first time he’s seen the marks that ran from the middle of his back and around to his abdomen.  They were still jagged and angry looking, harsh red lines that snaked along his skin.  Then there was the more faded, but still red, scar that began at the base of his neck and continued down to the middle of his chest.  If Stiles were to turn around, his father would see the healed bullet wounds in his lower back and shoulder blades.  If anyone else saw his body, they would think he’d been through a war zone.  Unfortunately, that’s exactly what happened.

 

“Stiles, you are going to explain what happened, _right_ _now_.”

 

He sighs and pushes passed him to reach the bedroom.  “Not now, dad.”  He quickly closes and locks the door so he can dress in peace and forget that he just exposed all of his scars.

 

“Fine, but we have to talk about it sometime,” he says through the door.  “And, uh, I know you didn’t want me to, but I called Scott.  He’s meeting us at the diner.”

 

Stiles rips open the door, still pulling on his shirt.  “You _what_?”

 

“Stiles, I couldn’t just _not_ tell him.  He still considers you-”

 

“Don’t say it.  I’m not part of a pack anymore,” he snaps.  His dad sighs, shoulders slumping.  Stiles immediately feels guilty, as he has this entire past week.  The last time he saw his father was about 5 years ago, when he was a witness at Stiles’ wedding.  He quickly shakes that memory away.  “You need to call him back and tell him not to come,” he demands.

 

“Kid, it’s his territory.  Have you forgotten that?  I’m supposed to tell him when people come in and out.  Besides, he wants to see you again.  Plus, he’s never even _met_ your daughter-”

 

“There’s a _reason_ I’ve kept her away, dad!”

 

“Like what?!”

 

Stiles sighs and runs a hand down his face.  “Forget it.  Where is she?  I need to explain to her what’s about to happen.”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

He ignores the question because his little girl peeks around the corner again, her big eyes staring up at him.  Stiles kneels down in front of her, glad to see she doesn’t move away this time.

 

“Hey, baby.  You still want to go to breakfast?” he asks.  She nods, playing with a stray curl of hair.  “Okay.  Well, one of daddy’s old friends is gonna join us.  You remember Gramps, right?” he asks, voice cracking.  She nods again, lip trembling slightly.  “Good.  Now this friend is just like Gramps,” he says.

 

Her little eyes squint in confusion for a moment, but then widen as she understands.

 

“He’s an Alpha?” she whispers.  They’re the first words she’s said to him in over a week and he wants to wrap her in a hug, but he can’t.

 

“She knows?” his dad asks.  Stiles ignores the question, focusing on his daughter.

 

“Yeah, his name is Scott.”

 

She takes a hesitant step toward him.  “Does he act like Gramps too?” she asks.  Stiles knows she doesn’t mean does Scott act like an old man.  They’d driven here from the east coast and ran into a few unfriendly Alphas.  Stiles swallows around the lump that forms when he thinks of the few days they were trapped in Reno.  His baby had been even more traumatized than she already was and Stiles couldn’t help her, not then and not now.

 

“Yeah, Sammy.  Scott is just like Gramps,” he replies.  He reaches to stroke her hair and has to hold back more tears when she finally lets him touch her again.  Stiles wants to bring her into his arms, but the last time he tried, she’d freaked out.  It hadn’t always been like this.  A few weeks ago, they would laugh and play, and he would chase her around the house.  Sam would tackle him, bringing him right to the floor, which ended in a tickle war.  But then hunters had stolen everything from them and then some bastard Alphas stole just about all of her childhood innocence.  Stiles had managed to save her before they…god, he can’t even think about those hands that were about to…

 

Stiles shakes the memory away, reminding himself again that his little Samantha was here, that he’d saved her in time.  But she hadn’t been the same ever since they had to run in the middle of the night from their cozy home in Providence.  He doesn’t know how to help her through this and the one person that _might_ have had an idea about what she was feeling, Stiles hadn’t seen in over a decade.

 

“Will Allison be there too?” he asks, glancing at his dad.  He nods, making Stiles sigh and turn back to Sam.

 

“Now, Scott is married to a very nice lady, who used to be a friend too.  When you get near her, stay calm, okay?  She’s gonna smell like metal and scary things, but she’s not going to hurt you.  Understand?”

 

“Smell…is she-”

 

“Later, dad.”

 

Stiles still hadn’t explained how his girl is most definitely a werewolf.  Hell, he hadn’t known he was around werewolves again until she was born with a furry problem.  Sometimes he thinks if his wife had told him her secret, maybe none of this would have happened.  He would have been more prepared, could have protected them better.

 

“Scary things?” Sam asks, pouting.  “Like those bad men that took Mommy?”

 

Stiles’ breath hitches and he automatically finds the ring on his left hand with his thumb.  He can’t look at his father, who still doesn’t know that the girl Stiles married was gone.  They met at the wedding obviously and his dad really liked her.  Stiles just couldn’t talk about it yet.

 

“Yeah, baby, Allison is gonna smell like that.  But I promise she won’t hurt you.”

 

Sammy doesn’t really look convinced, but he doesn’t know how else to reassure her.

 

“Stiles, maybe we should wait after all,” his dad says quietly.

 

“No, you were right.  Scott’s gonna find out eventually.  I can’t hide her here.”  They’re silent for a few seconds as Stiles watches Sam nervously twirl her hair as she thinks.  “Is anyone else gonna be there?”

 

“Their son, Danny.”

 

Stiles looks up at that.  “They named their son Danny?”

 

The man smiles a bit and says, “It’s a long story.”  Stiles nods, thinking how strange it is that Scott’s a father.  He wonders if the boy will have the same crooked jaw, or will be tough like Allison, or an adorable dork like Scott had been.  His own daughter looks a lot like him, but her personality is all _her_.  “We should get going then.”

 

Stiles nods and reaches a hand out for Sam, who blinks once at the gesture, before moving around him to take her grandfather’s hand instead. He watches the action silently, not able to comment. Glancing up, his dad looks surprised and concerned, but lightly grasps the little girl’s hand. Stiles stands, not making eye contact and mutters “Thanks” before rushing out to the car. It’s a quiet drive, with Stiles staring uninterestedly out the window the whole way there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hey anyone notice a connection between this chapter and chapter 1? Anybody??
> 
> Back to Scott POV next by the way
> 
> Any and all comments are welcome :)


	4. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's an awkward breakfast to say the least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks up right where the last one ended, but in Scott's POV.

**Scott**

 

“I’m nervous,” he says. They’ve been standing outside the diner for at least five minutes and Scott hasn’t been able to stop fidgeting.  He has no idea what to expect, or who the extra person will be.  Mr. Stilinski – or, John – never gave him details of Stiles’ life.  He always said that if Scott wanted to know, he should call himself.  Now he wishes he had because this is already awkward and it hasn’t even started.

 

“You’ll be fine. This is _Stiles_.  How much could he have changed?” Allison asks.  The Sheriff pulls up then, but the glare from the sun hinders his vision of his old friend.  He slips his hand into Allison’s as a way to calm his nerves.  Danny, on her other side, tilts his head at the car and is trying to sniff the air.  Scott does the same, but doesn’t find anything out of the ordinary yet.

 

Mr. Stilinski climbs from the driver’s seat and gives a small wave. “Sorry we’re late,” he calls.

 

“No problem, Mr. Stilinski,” Allison replies.

 

The man sighs, rolling his eyes slightly. “John, remember?”  Both Allison and Scott nod in understanding, but it’s still really weird.  The passenger door opens and his friend finally steps from the car.  Scott stares in surprise for a few seconds.  Stiles has really filled out, all broad shoulders and at least 2 inches taller.  His hair is back to a buzz cut and he holds himself so differently.  Gone is that awkward and nervous teenager he remembers.  This new Stiles has a confidence about him and Scott can’t stop looking in his eyes.  There’s a hard glint that he’s never seen before.  It makes him uneasy and he has to remind himself that this is still _Stiles_.  The man before him moves with quick actions, hands steady and sure.  Scott isn’t sure if it’s a mask he’s created or if this is how he really is now.  Either way, he already misses the old Stiles.

 

Stiles gives him a quick nod (another thing he never used to do) and then opens the back door. He reaches in for something and Scott hears a high pitched whine, followed with an angry “No.”  Something in the air has changed, but he can’t place it yet.  Scott turns his hearing up, trying to catch Stiles’ words.

 

“I thought you wanted breakfast, sweetie,” he says.

 

“I do,” a little girl answers.

 

“Then you have to get out of the car,” Stiles replies. “Let me unbuckle you.”

 

The girl shouts ‘no’ again and Scott can hear hands being slapped away. When she starts to cry, Stiles sighs.

 

“Baby, please don’t do this right now. Daddy’s gonna get you pancakes.  You like those, right?”

 

“No!” she cries. Her crying is loud enough now that Allison glances at him, not sure what to do.  Danny still has tantrums every now and then, but he hardly ever cries.  He’s a happy little bundle of fur, like any 4-year-old pup.  After another minute of Stiles trying to calm her down, he peeks over the roof.

 

“Dad, little help?” he asks. Mr. Stilin- John rushes over to the backseat and takes his son’s place.  The man simply shushes her and promises lots of blueberry pancakes for a few minutes before she quiets down.

 

“Now, little lady, want me to carry you inside?” he asks. A very quiet “Yeah” can be heard through a few sniffles.  Scott glances at Stiles and just barely catches a heartbroken expression before it’s disappearing under the mask again.  Allison squeezes his hand, letting him know she caught it as well.

 

“Dad,” Danny gasps quietly, pointing. When the girl is finally lifted from the car, a wave of primal instincts rise up in him, making his sight shift to red briefly.  Stiles must have caught it because he’s instantly pulling the girl out of his father’s arms and into his.  She doesn’t fight him this time and simply lets him hold her.  When the girl looks to Scott, his sight goes red again and her irises shine a brilliant blue.  The shocking color drains the fight right out of him.  How can someone so young have blue instead of yellow?  Scott looks away, fear of what his friend and this girl have gone through swimming through him.

 

“Um…” John mutters. “Is everyone good now?”

 

Looking back, he sees the girl’s eyes have returned to amber brown, just like her father’s. He nods, plastering on a calm smile as not to startle her any more.

 

“Great!” John exclaims, clasping his hands together. “Let’s get breakfast then,” he says, walking towards the diner.

 

“PopPop!” the girl cries, arms reaching for him. She’s wiggling so much that Stiles almost loses his grip, but John catches her in time.

 

“Come on, kiddo, time for those pancakes,” he says. They all follow him through the doors, no one saying anything.  He still doesn’t know how to approach this new Stiles.  Allison was wrong about it being just like before.  It’s stilted and awkward, which makes him want to run away.  This was all just so very wrong.  But he also wanted to stay and see if that mask ever drops from Stiles’ face.

 

They get a booth by the front windows and the waiter brings two booster seats. Once they’re all seated, it’s easier to bury their heads behind the menus and ignore one another.  But that tactic can only last so long before it becomes stupid, so Scott is the first to lower his guard.  Might as well get this going somehow…

 

Allison beats him to it. “So, Stiles...I think the last time we were all together was at Danny and Ethan’s wedding right?” she asks.  Scott thinks back and almost can’t believe it’s been that long.  But eight years ago, their friends got married and Stiles had flown in for it.  He was there for everyone but Isaac’s wedding, which the other wolf was still upset about to this day.

 

“Uh, yeah…I guess it has been that long,” Stiles replies, sipping at his water. That was around the end of everyone’s sophomore year and college had been over for about 4 years now.

 

“How’d that Accounting degree you were working for go?” he asks.

 

“It was alright. Got me a job at a small company as their payroll accountant,” Stiles replies, shrugging.  Not exactly flashy, as Scott always assumed Stiles would go for, but it didn’t sound completely awful either.  “What about you guys?  What are you doing now?” he asks.  Scott noticed he was quick to put the attention back on them, but the old Stiles had always been a pro at that, so it wasn’t _too_ concerning.

 

“I took over the clinic after Deaton retired.”

 

“Really? That’s great, man,” Stiles says.  He seems genuinely happy about the news, which eases the tight feeling Scott had a bit.

 

“Yeah, it really is. One of our adoptive dogs, a German shepherd, just had a litter of puppies-”

 

“Puppies!” Danny squeals. “Can we visit them after?” he asks, bouncing in his seat.

 

“I don’t know, buddy. We’ve got another meeting later today.  Maybe Aunt Lydia will take you,” Scott says.  Danny scrunches his face up, displeased with that idea.

 

“Does that mean I have to play with Chloe?” he whines.

 

Allison sighs and pats his head. “Yes and you will be _nice_ , right?”  Danny pouts, but nods reluctantly.  The little boy then turns to the quiet brunette next to him. 

 

“Wanna come see puppies with me?” he asks. The young werewolf girl bites her lip and then looks to her father.

 

“Can I?” she asks quietly. Stiles looks between the two kids for a moment before a small smile forms.

 

“Sure, we can see some puppies,” he says. His daughter frowns then and looks back at the table, where she’s been coloring on her placemat.

 

“I want PopPop to bring me,” she says, a stubborn tone to her voice. Stiles’ smile fades and he sips at his water in silence again.  John sighs and elbows the little girl gently.

 

“I think daddy wants to see some puppies, too. Don’t you want him to come?” he asks.  The girl glances at Stiles and they make brief eye contact, before she looks back to her crayons.

 

“No,” she says. Stiles nods, as if he expected it, and John just frowns.  Scott doesn’t know what’s going on, but the little wolf has clearly formed a stronger bond with her grandfather than she has with Stiles.  Her behavior is strange to be honest because John told him – when they were waiting in line - that they only met about a week ago.  It takes time for a wolf to form a bond with an outsider.  Scott has that terrible feeling again that something bad must have happened for the girl to sever ties with her own father so harshly.  Even when they sat down at the table, John was between father and daughter.

 

Allison leans over to hand the girl a crayon she was reaching for. “What’s your name, by the way?”

 

Again, she looks to Stiles before giving an answer. He nods, apparently giving her permission.  “Samantha.”

 

“Well, Samantha, it’s very nice to meet you. Danny here is having a little play date later.  Would you like to come?” she asks.  Samantha narrows her eyes, glances at the offered crayon, and then returns to her coloring.

 

“No, thank you,” she says stiffly. Allison blinks at the brush off, but recovers quickly with a soft smile.  She leans away again and Scott notices how the girl relaxes again.

 

“Alright,” John sighs and turns the conversation back to careers. “Allison, how’s the writing going?”

 

“It’s been fantastic,” she says. Her eyes light up as they always do when she talks about her career.  “My blog has really taken off.”  Turning to Stiles, she says “I write an anonymous blog that promotes alliances between…well, those like _Scott_ and people like my family.  I’ve been able to help many hunters open their minds-”

 

At the mention of hunters, the green crayon in Samantha’s hand breaks. Her eyes flash for a moment, but it’s gone again when she blinks.  Danny quietly hands her his own green crayon, which she politely takes and begins to draw with.

 

Stiles clears his throat to gain their attention. “So, Danny mentioned a Chloe earlier.  Who’s that?” he asks.  At hearing her name, his son groans and then scowls at his crayons.

 

Scott snorts and says “Chloe is Lydia and Aiden’s eldest daughter. She’s like a mini Lydia.”

 

“Yikes,” Stiles says, chuckling a bit.

 

“Yes, she’s a handful,” John sighs good-naturedly. Scott and Allison nod in agreement.  Their food finally arrives then, making Samantha finally smile at something.  Stiles offers to cut them for her, but she hands her utensils to John, completely ignoring her father.

 

“Oh, I’m not sure I know how. Your daddy would do a much better job,” he says.

 

“I don’t _want_ him to do it,” she argues.

 

“Why not?” John prods.

 

“Dad, it’s fine, just-” Stiles starts.

 

“Let the girl answer, son,” John interrupts. Stiles sighs and glares at his eggs.  “Why don’t you want your daddy to cut the pancakes?”

 

“Because he doesn’t do it right. He doesn’t do _anything_ right,” she shouts, pouting.  “Mommy _always_ made me breakfast!”  Stiles drops his fork, head snapping up at the comment.  Samantha quickly looks away and sniffles at her pancakes.  The light catches on the gold band on Stiles’ left hand and Scott chastises himself for not noticing it sooner.  If they’re here alone, clearly the mother isn’t in the picture any more.  Whether they’ve just split or she’s passed away, Scott obviously doesn’t know.

 

“Okay, sweetheart, I’m sorry. PopPop will do it,” John says quickly.  Stiles pushes his chair back, muttering about using the restroom.  But the moment he gets up, Samantha starts crying.

 

“I’m sorry! Don’t go, Daddy, don’t go!” she shrieks.  Stiles flinches and is at her side in a flash, picking her up into his arms to cradle her.

 

“Shh, baby, it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere,” he soothes.  Though she had been crying for her father, a few seconds in his arms and she’s screeching and trying to get away from him.

 

“Nooo…PopPop!” she cries, reaching out. John hastily gets up and cradles the tiny wolf against his chest.  When Stiles’ arms are empty, it’s like he no longer knows what to do.  He stands and watches as Samantha sobs in her grandfather’s arms.

 

“I’ll take her outside for a few minutes,” John says, carrying her away. They descend into awkward silence then.  Danny resumes eating his sausage links, ignorant to all the drama that just happened.

 

“Hey, Scott?” Stiles calls. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asks.

 

“Yeah, man,” Scott replies. He quickly pecks Allison on the lips, ruffles Danny’s hair, and then follows Stiles out to the back parking lot.  When he gets there, Stiles is pacing and the restless movements he’d remembered from back in the day seem to have resurfaced.

 

“Do you know anything about her condition?” Stiles asks, continuing his pacing.

 

“Condition?”

 

“The blue eyes, Scott,” he snaps.

 

“Um…I’m aware of how they turn blue, if that’s what you’re asking.”

 

“No, that’s _not_ what I’m asking.  What do I do about it?” he asks, frantic.  Scott just stares, not understanding.  “She’s…she’s just _different_ and I don’t know how to help her,” he explains.  “I need someone who knows about this.  I was hoping you might.”

 

“Sorry, man, but I don’t. Weird coincidence though…I might have someone that can help you.  You remember Jackson?”

 

“Yeah, douche with a tail, I remember.” Scott huffs because it was a typical Stiles answer.  He’d missed that.

 

“Well, I’m meeting with him later today. He’s moving to San Francisco and wanted to clear the air, or whatever.”

 

“Jackson? Wanted to promote peace?” Stiles asks, brows raised.

 

“I _know_ , right?  Weird shit.  But that’s not the only strange call I got last night.  Cora Hale called asking if I’ve seen Derek.”

 

“Have you? Because honestly, I’d prefer to deal with him rather than Jackson,” Stiles says, grimacing.

 

“No, I haven’t. But I’m gonna try to help her find him.  Sounds like his life didn’t exactly get any better,” he sighs.

 

“Damn. Like, status quo, or worse than it already was?”

 

“No idea.”

 

Stiles nods in understanding…or lack thereof really, considering neither of them have any idea what’s become of Derek.

 

“So, if everything goes alright with Jackson, do you want me to give him your number?” Scott asks. Stiles licks his bottom lip, a nervous habit from way back when.

 

“Just give him the home phone. I got rid of all my cells,” he mutters.

 

“Why’s that?”

 

“Harder to find someone that doesn’t leave a trail,” he grumbles, shrugging. Scott wants to ask about it, to analyze that very cryptic statement, but that mask pulls over Stiles’ face again.  “Anyway, we should get back to our breakfast,” he mumbles, heading back inside.  Scott sighs, but follows his friend.  By the time they return, John has Samantha calmly eating her pancakes again.  They finish their meal in mostly silence, with the Sheriff telling a story every now and then to keep the kids entertained.

 

When they’re saying goodbye in the parking lot, Scott gets a handshake from Stiles. He figures its progress.  It’s better than a head nod at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all liked this chapter :)
> 
> Next chapter switches to Derek POV


	5. Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek begins his journey to California.

**Derek**

 

It’s been 30 minutes since he’s passed the ‘You are now leaving Columbia’ sign and so far so good. He won’t get his hopes up though because it’s still a long way to California.  Hell, he still has to make it safely out of Missouri. 

 

Sirens are suddenly blaring and lights are flashing all around him. This can’t be good.  He wasn’t speeding and the Camaro is still in good condition, so there’s literally no reason he should be getting pulled over.  Sighing, he maneuvers to the side of the road and waits for the officer to approach.

 

When the young man taps on his window, he obligingly rolls it down. The officer leans down to get a look at him.

 

“Hey, there. Do you know why I pulled you over?” he asks.  Derek is about to respond, when the man blinks and his irises flash gold.  Glancing at the name on his shirt, he wants to snort at the obviousness of it.

 

“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea, Officer Wolf,” he retorts. Though he’s an Omega, he has a habit of not letting Betas push him around if he can help it.  The man frowns, eyes returning to a dark brown.

 

“Step out of the vehicle, sir,” he orders.

 

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Derek mutters and floors the gas pedal. He expects the beta to chase the car, as he’s seen many times, but this one smartens up and hops in his vehicle as well.  It’s a legit car chase and Derek doesn’t understand how this is his life.  He makes a few sharp turns and his luck finally turns around when the officer hits the breaks at the city limit.  The deputy soon shrinks away in his rearview mirror and he takes a breath, enjoying his momentary safety.  In another 20 minutes, he’s crossed into Kansas finally and he slowly relaxes in his seat.

 

Around six in the morning, he finds himself in a heavily wooded area. It’s still dark and the shadows from the trees have him flicking his high beams on.  As an Alpha or even a Beta, he had no problem seeing in the dark, but that too has been diminished.  In his relaxed state, it takes him a few minutes to realize he’s being followed.  He curses, but continues as if nothing is wrong, not wanting to alert his pursuer.  They go a few miles, when a large truck rumbles out of a dirt driveway and joins what Derek is officially calling another chase.  He must have crossed into another Alphas territory _again_.

 

Derek can’t remember there being this many packs around when he and Laura traveled the country. They ran into only a handful of other Alphas and had _never_ been chased out by this many…

 

He’s starting to wonder if it’s because of the alert Jaden put out on him. If that’s the case, it’s more than an alert, it’s a fucking hit.  He must have announced a reward for whoever captured him.  Plus, there are still Mark’s contacts that will be looking for him.  He sincerely hopes that the wolves chasing him right now are on Jaden’s orders.  Jaden will have said to just kill him and send the body back, but Mark wants him brought back alive.  He _will not_ go back to him.

 

Derek floors the gas and takes a sharp left, tires squealing as he forces the car to go faster. The two cars behind him do the same, but all too soon the truck is pulling up alongside him.  The driver honks the horn and the crazed looking man in the passenger’s seat shows his canines in what Derek assumes is a growl.  Annoyed, Derek decides to flip him off.

 

Wrong answer.

 

The driver swerves to the right, scraping against Derek’s door. He pushes back, but his Camaro is no match for the large truck.  With a sudden push from behind by the other car and another swerve by the truck, Derek’s vehicle tumbles off the side of the road.  The front end clips a tree and he goes spinning, glass breaking on impact and slicing along his skin.  He’s dizzy and disoriented when the car smashes backwards into another tree.  After a few moments, he’s blinking and thankful not for the first time he was born a wolf.  If he’d been human, he’d be dead right about now.  Even so, he’s got cuts that are stinging and his entire body is sore, but at least he can move.

 

Speaking of moving, he should really get the fuck out of here. He pries the door open, not caring about being quiet.  There’s already shouting up on the road about retrieving him.  Derek runs further into the small forest, ignoring how his pursuers’ feet are pounding after him.  There were about four of them and if he didn’t find some kind of cover soon, he was screwed.  He jumps to grab a low hanging branch and swings himself up into it.  Once he’s up, it’s easy to move from tree to tree, masking his scent somewhat.  They’ll still be able to track him this way, but not as well.

 

“He’s in the fucking trees!” someone shouts. Derek grumbles to himself, wishing this pack wasn’t so smart.  Not many wolves actually climbed up into the trees, so he’d been able to escape this way more often than not.  Guess he needs to work harder for this one.  He hears at least two of them follow him up into the branches, so he moves faster, climbing higher each time.  When the limbs start getting weaker and flimsy, he drops to the ground with a harsh grunt.  It’s a long fall, but his somewhat better strength and faster healing as him up and running yet again.  They’re still chasing him and shouting directions at each other, but they’re a good distance away now.  Derek runs until he finds himself in a park, with a decent sized lake.  He doesn’t hesitate to dive into the water, therefore completely masking his scent.

 

He breaks the surface and hastily swims towards some rocks that have made small waterfalls. Derek makes his way through the falling water and ducks beneath the overhanging rocks.  Not only will his scent be hidden here, but the falls are loud enough to cover his heavy breathing.  Just in case, he closes his eyes, takes a few deep breaths before holding it, and submerges himself beneath the murky water.

 

It’s silent under the surface and he’s able to finally let his senses take over. He stretches out that sixth sense, trying to pin point the others’ movements.  It takes quite a bit of strength to do this, but he figures it’s worth it.  Once fully amped up, he can sense them searching the park and sniffing around the lake, but none of them venture into the water.  He waits, floating beneath the surface, until his lungs are burning.  When he can’t take it anymore, he surges up and gulps in air, feeling like his chest is about to cave in.  He rests against the rock wall, trying to steady his heart and praying the crash, run, and holding his breath for so long won’t kill him.

 

Amplifying his senses for those few minutes had been worth it at the time, but he seriously feels like he’s dying now. He can barely move and if it weren’t for the rocks propping him up, he’d be sinking back beneath the water.

 

“Dude, you alive in there?”

 

His nerves go through the roof at the unexpected voice. Peering around the rocks, he finds a young man staring down at him, wide grin on his face.

 

“Man, I totally thought you just drowned yourself,” he says. The kid holds out a hand and not knowing how else he’ll get up and out of the falls, he takes the offer.  He thought the boy had been human, but with their combined strength Derek is being pulled up and onto the grass.  Derek flops onto his back, breathing hard once again.  “I can’t believe you actually outran them.  Nice dodging skills, dude,” he says.  Derek huffs and blinks up at him.  “Wow, they did _not_ go easy on you, huh?” he says, cringing as he looks Derek over.  The kid helps him sit up, which takes a great deal of effort on both their parts.  They sit in silence as Derek finally manages to catch his breath.  His arms, neck, and face are still covered in lacerations from the car wreck and he’s drenched from the lake.

 

He glances at the boy beside him, noticing he can’t be more than 18 or 19. He’s pale, with light green eyes, and floppy brown hair.  For a wolf, he’s far too skinny, skin stretched a bit too much over his bones.  He might have been cute, if he hadn’t looked so broken and lost.

 

“Who are you?” he rasps.

 

“Name’s Harry. I live in this park you just invaded,” he replies.  He doesn’t actually sound angry about it though.  “Been here for a few weeks and those jackasses still haven’t found me.  Good thing too.  I’d be like a chew toy for them.  Much like you would have been.  What’s your name, by the way?”

 

“Derek,” he answers. He figures telling another Omega who he is shouldn’t hurt anything, which proves to be correct.  The kid just nods and then pulls a pack of crackers out of his hoodie pocket.  Derek is surprised when Harry opens it and offers to share.  His stomach rumbles when the smell hits him and he gratefully takes a few.

 

“I’m actually _really_ surprised you’re still alive.  The Chambers Pack is pretty big.  If you’re lucky, the Alpha hasn’t gotten wind of you yet.  Those were her most trusted betas, so I doubt you have very long,” Harry says.

 

“Great,” he sighs.

 

“Well, you _are_ lucky that I’m the one who found you.  I’ve got a truck hidden in the trees.  I can give you a ride somewhere.”

 

“You’d do that?” Derek asks, surprised. He figured the crackers were as much as he’d get.  Most Omegas wanted to avoid even each other, not wanting to draw attention.

 

“Eh, why not? That was the most action I’ve seen in _years_ , dude.  Figure I can help you out a bit,” he says, shrugging.  Derek nods a thank you and after they finish the crackers, Harry helps him to his feet.  He sways a bit and the boy quickly steadies him.  “My truck’s only about a mile into the forest.  Think you can make it?” he asks.  Derek nods again and they slowly make their way into the trees.  Halfway there, his affirmative answer turns out to be false when his legs give out.  The forest tilts around him and he vomits onto the grass.  “Oh, dude, that is _not_ pretty,” Harry mutters.

 

The kid hauls him to his feet and practically carries him the rest of the way. Once at the truck, Harry pushes him with some difficulty into the passengers’ seat.  He climbs in behind the wheel and starts up the engine.

 

“Where to?” he asks.

 

“I need to find my car,” he replies, running a hand through his wet hair. He shakes some of the excess off, but it doesn’t do much.

 

“Okay, where’d you leave it?”

 

Derek sighs and slumps into the seat. “Somewhere at the bottom of a forest, wrapped around a tree,” he grumbles.

 

Harry raises a brow at that. “Um…wait, are you telling me they _ran_ you off the _road_?”  Derek nods and folds his arms.  His Camaro was officially totaled.  So much for promising Laura he’d take care of it.  “Dude, did you personally piss this pack off or something?” Harry asks.

 

“No, I don’t even know who they are.”

 

Harry thinks for a minute and then whistles, seemingly impressed. “Man, either you have some shitty luck, or there’s like a statewide hit out on you,” he chuckles.  He sobers at Derek’s silence.  “ _Dude_ , is there a statewide hit out on you?”

 

“Not exactly,” he mumbles.

 

“What does that mean?” he asks. Derek doesn’t answer and Harry scowls.  “How bad is this?  I mean, if I drop you off a few towns over, are you gonna get jumped on sight?”

 

“Depends on where you drop me off.”

 

“…And if I were to drop you off a few _states_ over?” he asks.  Derek doesn’t answer and simply frowns.  “Oh my _god_ , is this a _nationwide_ search?  What the hell did you do, man?”

 

Derek sighs and says “I pissed off some powerful people and then ran away from some even more powerful people.”

 

“Dude, you are _screwed_ ,” Harry says, shaking his head.

 

“Yes, I know that,” Derek snaps. The kid jumps at the tone and looks away.

 

“Right, sorry,” he mutters. After a few awkward seconds, he finally begins driving out of the park.  “So, do you remember any signs near the area you crashed?” he asks.  Derek is a bit surprised he’s still willing to help, but definitely isn’t going to question it.

 

“I think I saw something about a village right before I went off the road.”

 

“Okay, that’s probably Cedar Lake Village. It’s only about 10 minutes from here.  But if you wrecked that bad, why go back for the car?”

 

“There’s things I need in it,” he says. The bag full of herbs and stones from Ed, plus the slip with the phone numbers on it is still inside somewhere.  He hopes the items in the bag weren’t too damaged because he’s got a feeling he’s really gonna need them.  Harry doesn’t ask any more questions and they ride in silence for the next ten minutes.  It’s easy to find the area because there’re skid marks all over the road.  They stop and Derek is relieved to find that he’s a bit sturdier on his legs this time.  In fact, the lacerations along his skin have mostly healed, leaving scars in their wake.  He hasn’t healed this fast in a while and figures it’s because he’s in the presence of another wolf.  A wolf that’s actually willing to help and work with him.  It’s a nice feeling and Derek has the urge to ask if Harry wants to stick with him.

 

The kid must have seen something in his expression because he’s holding up a hand. “No, man.  I’m sorry, but I don’t wanna get tangled in your drama.”  Derek nods, respecting that decision.  It was probably better for this kid to just return to his park anyway.  Everyone was safer when away from him.  He’d learned that a long time ago.  He turns away and slowly climbs down the embankment to reach his mangled car.  Harry stays by the road, not wanting to venture too far away from his own vehicle.

 

Derek approaches the car, anger welling up at the sight of it. It was basically just a heap of metal now.  There was no way he could salvage any of it.  He pries the trunk open, having to rip it away from the tree first.  It seems that everything inside actually survived the wreck, including the jars of herbs and stones in the bag.  He carefully slings it onto his back, pulling the strings tight.  Derek rummages through the rest of his crap and finds a crowbar wedged into the corner.  He pulls it out, testing its weight and durability.  It’s fairly sturdy and might help him in a fight, so he figures he’ll bring it along.

 

Looking over the car again only proves to make him angrier and in a fit of rage, he bashes the crowbar against its hood. He swings it down again and again until it makes a dent, and then until the dent becomes a hole.  When his arms become sore, the metal slips from his fingers and he staggers back, out of breath.  He stands, glaring at the car for another few minutes, before grabbing the crowbar and trudging back up the steep hill.

 

Harry is still there waiting for him, probably having witnessed his minor meltdown.

 

“Feel better?” he asks. Derek scowls at him and just walks towards the truck.  “Right, never mind,” he murmurs.  They climb inside once again and start down the road.  “Where to now?”

 

“As far west as you’re willing to go.”

 

“West it is.”

 

Two hours later, Harry is poking at his shoulder, trying to wake him up. When the hell had he fallen asleep?

 

“You alive over there?” Harry asks. Derek blinks and stretches up into the seat more.

 

“Yeah, where are we?”

 

“Some park in El Dorado. This is as far as I’m willing to go.  But if you can make it to this address,” he says, handing over a slip of paper.  “Then there’s a guy willing to sell you a car.  You got any money?”

 

“Yeah, enough for a cheap car anyway,” he says. Derek had given most of the insurance money to Cora and her family a few years ago.  He’d kept some of it, but it was dwindling fast.

 

“Good, then you’ll have transportation after that at least. The only problem now is getting to him.  It’s gonna be a long walk, but I don’t really have any other way of getting you there.  I suggest you stick to back roads and forests if you can.  You can shift and run faster that way.”  Derek nods in understanding and climbs from the truck.  The ground was mostly mud and they were parked by what looked like a marsh.  On the other side was a nicely landscaped park with children trying to feed some ducks.

 

“Thanks for the ride,” he says, shutting the door.

 

“Hey, Derek?” Harry calls. “You, uh…you know what tonight is right?”

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

Harry nods and bites his lip. “If you can make it to that address before the moon goes up, the man there can help you…you know, if control is a problem,” he says.  Derek looks away, but nods.  Harry leaves a few seconds after, leaving Derek alone once again.  What he’d said struck a nerve because ever since he left Beacon Hills, control had been a massive problem.  He could pull back the shift during regular times, but not during the full moons.  It was still early morning, probably around nine, so he had all day to make it to this place.  Unfortunately, after looking at his map, it _was_ going to be a long walk.

 

Derek takes a moment to search through the items in his bag. He finds a jar full of a bright green paste, marked simply ‘For Healing’.  The instructions say for open wounds, he should spread the substance along the skin; for internal wounds he should consume the substance with water.  Most of his wounds have already healed, so he doesn’t need to use it yet.  Looking through some of the pouches, he finds one tagged ‘Protection’.  Ed had written down that the gray stones inside should be carried inside his pockets if he felt the extra need for protection.  It says to use their energy sparingly because they have a time limit of only 5 hours.  The second pouch marked protection is apparently for when he sleeps.  It’s filled with tiny chips of flint, which he’s supposed to throw at the ground of wherever he’s bunking down.

 

Ed also doesn’t guarantee that any of this will work, seeing as how he’s a werewolf, but there’s a 70/30 chance that it will help. Derek sighs and closes it back up.  He doesn’t understand magic and isn’t going to pretend to.  He’s gonna just trust that Ed knows what he’s doing.  Placing the bag on his shoulder, he begins the long trek to Wichita, Kansas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this chapter. More Stiles coming up next :)


	6. Blank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles prepares for the full moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events of the full moon won't actually be in this chapter, only Stiles' moments leading up to them.

**Stiles**

“Were you _ever_ going to tell me?  How long did you think you could keep this - keep _her_ a secret?  Stiles, honestly, what were you thinking?”

 

“That I was protecting my daughter,” he snaps.

 

His father sighs, fingers clenching around the wheel.  Stiles glances in the side mirror, seeing his little girl trace imaginary images along the window.  Her expression is fairly blank, as it often is when there’s nothing around to stimulate her.  Just a short few weeks ago, she’d have been babbling like crazy, telling him all about how the squirrels were throwing acorns at each other - or how the trees were sad that day because it hadn’t rained.  She would make up stories about the moon - about how she wished she could live inside it, be it’s best friend in the whole wide world.  The transformation had never scared her.  Her mother and their Alpha had taught her from birth how to handle it, how to embrace it.

 

All of that changed on the last full moon.  Sam had run to the window to stand under the moonlight, like she used to at home, but it wasn’t the same.  She’s cried for hours as her eyes flashed blue, cried until she passed out in his arms.  He’ll never forget how loud and hard she screamed for her mother, thrashing her body about to get away from him, to run to some phantom image of her she kept seeing.  He tried to reassure her that she was safe, that he’d never leave her, but nothing worked.

 

Even now, as their eyes meet in the mirror, she seems to only look right through him.  He wonders what she sees.  Does she see her father, the man who rocked her to sleep night after night, who she chased during full moons, who read to her every night?  Or does she see a monster - the man who abandoned his wife when she needed him most, who ran instead of fighting by her side?  Or maybe she sees the man she had to protect that night, the man she killed for.

 

Maybe she sees nothing at all when looking at him.

 

“Stiles, who are you running from?” his father asks quietly.

 

He feels his eyes slip closed at the question.  The answer was too complicated to give.  He’s running from the hunters that broke into his house and slaughtered his family, the werewolves that took a liking to his daughter, the guilt that consumes him day and night.

 

When they pull into the driveway, he gets out without answering, and rolls the back window down.

 

“PopPop is gonna take you to see the puppies now, okay?  I’ll see you when you get back,” he says.  He cautiously reaches in and strokes her cheek gently to say goodbye.  Her amber irises briefly flash bright blue, changing back only when he removes his hand.  He doesn’t know what it means, doesn’t know if it’s good or bad.  Her eyes used to flash gold when she was angry, when she was overly excited, when she was scared, during the full moons.  It’s impossible to tell what causes the change now.  Her expressions no longer tell him anything.  Maybe it’s because tonight is the full moon.  It’s still around noon, so she should be fine until later tonight, but he still worries about not being with her today.

 

Stiles reluctantly pulls away from the car, letting his father back out and drive down the road.  His daughter’s gaze stays with him until they turn the corner, blank expression sending a shiver up his spine.

 

Shaking it off, he runs back into the house.  He needed to prepare for tonight.  Ward the house, her bedroom, his dad’s room; gather the necessary restraints in case she can’t control it.  Stiles pauses with the chains in his hands.  His wife would be furious if she knew he even _bought_ these, let alone was considering using them.  She was a big believer in trial and error.  He had to admit it worked for Sammy.  When she was 2 years old, she’d attacked one of their human pack mates, leaving the woman with a deep scar right across her face.  Sam had never lost control again, having been horrified at what she’d done.  It turned out that the woman had become her anchor after that.

 

Thinking of her now, all Stiles wants to do is reopen that scar and watch her bleed out.  She’d betrayed them, brought hunters right to their door.  Her and the only other human member of their pack - the woman’s fiance; the man Sammy…

 

A part of him hopes they’re still chasing them, only so he can kill her for what she did.

 

The anger the memories bring puts him into motion, putting every ounce of strength he has into the magic behind the wards.  He arms a few blades as well.  A simple bullet would be too good for her.

 

Maybe he should be hoping they’ll never run into her again, that they’ll be safe forever here with his father.

 

But that part of him that rules his magic, the part of him that lies closer to the surface on these nights, is begging for him to let loose - to lose control.  It calls to him like it never has before, wanting him to track her down and slit her throat.  He’d even abandon his own daughter if it meant releasing this fire inside of him.

 

The thought startles him, shame burning bright.

 

“Don’t worry,” he says to the shining ring on his finger.  “I won’t fail her again.  I promise.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It always takes me awhile to update my stories, but I promise I'm working on them.
> 
> Back to Scott next.


	7. Truth or Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson has returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scott finally meets with Jackson.

**Scott**

 

Back to the wall, Scott surveys the cafe, searching for anything out of place.  His two pack mates are spread around the room - Allison at a table by the windows and Aiden strolling through the magazine racks.  They were all clear on the plan.  Scott would talk with Jackson, assessing the threat, while Allison watched for outsiders and Aiden listened in.  If things went south, Scott told them to _not_ leave the cafe.  Jackson has never been stupid.  He won’t risk exposure with a public attack.

 

“McCall?”

 

Scott’s head snaps up at the familiar voice, a tight smile coming to his face.  The man hasn’t changed all that much, looks wise.  He’s still blonde and handsome - maybe a bit taller and his hair was little longer, but that was it.  Jackson stretches a hand out when he gets close enough and Scott stands to shake it.

 

“Jackson, nice to see you again,” he says.  It wasn’t a _total_ lie.  Though he was wary, he was curious as well.  Taking in the scents on him and around him, he picks up at least two other wolves on his person.  Not here in the cafe, but two wolves he must spend an awful lot of time with for their scents to be mingled so thoroughly.  He can tell the man is still a beta and can’t help but wonder if the others are as well, or if he has an Alpha.

 

“You too,” he says.  They sit and Scott sips his coffee for something to do in the silted silence.  “I gotta say, I was surprised when I heard you were an Alpha.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah, I mean, you never really seemed the type.”

 

Scott’s brow ticks at the comment, unsure of where he’s going with this.

 

“How’s that?”

 

“Well, I know only one way you can achieve that status,” he says and then sips at his coffee as well.  “So like I said, I never really pictured you to be the type.”

 

It dawns on him what the man must mean.  He thinks Scott killed someone for the power.

 

“Oh, no, I didn’t take it from anyone.  There _is_ actually more than one way.”

 

“Really?” he asks.  Scott looks him over, a little concerned about his interest in this topic.  He may not be the type to kill someone for power, but is Jackson?

 

“Yeah,” he mutters.  “So, you said you were moving to San Francisco?” he asks, steering the topic to safer ground.  Jackson taps his finger against his cup for a moment, but then nods and moves on.

 

“I bought a house in Presidio.  We moved in about a week ago.”

 

“We?”

 

Jackson hesitates before nodding again.  “Wife and kids, the whole nine-yards.”

 

“That’s great, man.”

 

“Yeah, it really is,” he mutters, staring at his coffee.  “Anyway, maybe we should talk about why I’m here?”

 

Scott can’t help but tense, taking a gulp of his coffee to cover his reaction.

 

“Which is?”

 

“I just don’t want there to be any problems between us, with me living so close to Beacon Hills.”

 

“I don’t see why there should be.  We’re making up for lost time now, aren’t we?  You’re here to promote peace?”

 

He was going to skirt around the subject, but then decided fuck it.  It’s best to have everything out in the open.

 

Jackson’s smile goes tight around the edges.  “Of course.”

 

The Alpha’s eyes narrow in suspicion.  It wasn’t a lie exactly, but his heartbeat skittered a bit.  It didn’t jump, it simply wavered.  Scott isn’t sure if that means Jackson is training himself to cover his lies or if it’s a half truth.

 

“Great,” he says.  He decides to bide his time with this.  No need to confront it straight out of the gate.  “I’d invite you to my place, but full moon and all,” he adds.

 

“I understand.”

 

Scott considers inviting him to the picnic and then cringes at the idea of having Jackson, Lydia, and Aiden in the same room.  He knows damn well that it doesn’t matter that they've both moved on, they were each other’s first love.  Not everyone gets over something like that.

 

“But,” he says.  “I’m apparently golfing with some of my pack on Sunday, if you’d like to join.”  Scott will admit he’s still dreading it.  He’s never been into the sport.  It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he sucked at it - none.

 

“Golf?  I’d love to.  I used to play with my Dad all the time,” Jackson says.  He blinks and then stares back into his coffee.  He was never well-versed in Jackson’s many expressions, but it’s clear his father is a sore subject.  Scott didn’t miss the past tense when he spoke of him.

 

“Okay.  I’ll give you a call when I know the details,” he says.

 

“Sounds good.”  With that, they both stand and shake hands again.

 

“Happy Full Moon, McCall,” Jackson mutters.  Then he nods to Aiden and lifts his coffee in a salute to Allison before strolling out the door with a smirk on his face.  Scott scowls at his retreating back.  He hadn’t thought Jackson was aware of his pack mates, but clearly he was more observant than he thought.

 

“I don’t like him,” Aiden grumbles as he sits down.

 

“He got into a Porsche,” Allison says with a snort.

 

“Of course he did,” Scott sighs.

 

“How did it go?”

 

“I don’t trust him,” Aiden says.  “Why not just say he knew we were lurking?  And he totally lied, don’t try to tell me he didn’t.”

 

“Lied about what?”

 

Scott frowns, swirling his now cold coffee.  “I was upfront, asking if he was here on peaceful intentions-”

 

“And he lied?” Allison asks, eyes narrowing.

 

“Not exactly.  It wasn’t a lie, but he’s hiding something.”

 

“I can’t believe you invited him to golf,” Aiden mutters.  Scott rolls his eyes and then gets up to throw his cup in the trash.  The coffee was seriously _not good_ here.

 

“If we’re going to learn why he’s here, we have to be open to actually getting to know him, hence the social outing.”

 

Aiden drops it after that, though he’s clearly still annoyed.  Scott isn’t sure how much Lydia has told him and he wasn’t gonna be the one to drop that bomb.  His beta splits off to get in his own car and Allison links her arm through his as they walk to their own.

 

“We still need to be careful.  I don’t like that he wasn’t totally honest.”

 

“Me neither.  I’ll tell the betas to be on guard this Sunday.”

 

“Not hostile though, hostile would be counterproductive.”

 

“Yes, dear, I know,” he retorts just to see her outraged expression.  She laughs a moment later, punching him playfully in the arm.

 

They return home to prepare for the full moon.  The entire pack would come together at his home, the Alpha’s den, and stay the night.  It was easier to teach the younger wolves control when they were surrounded by the comforting scents of their whole family.  His son was the only one so far to have found his anchor.  It was his mother.  Scott worried about that more often than not.  How could he not?  Both his and his son’s anchor was Allison.  If anything ever happened to her, he’s not sure they’d survive.

 

When they’re home, she heads straight to the kitchen to prepare a meal for tonight.  They’d eat together in the living room and then retreat to the downstairs den.  It had a safe room in case any of the kids get too out of control or even any of the parents.  It’s rare, but it happens.  The most memorable was when Aiden and Ethan were arguing non-stop.  Everyone thought it was just sibling rivalry until the full moon came and they almost tore each other apart - in front of their children.  Scott made them sit down with Marin after that to hash out their issues.  To this day they still see her for joint and separate sessions.  That had been a rough year to say the least.  Scott is glad they’ve managed to mostly put the past behind them.

 

He can’t help wondering about the ones who _won’t_ be joining them tonight.  Scott wonders how Stiles manages with his daughter and he wonders what Derek will be doing tonight.  He hadn’t gotten around to calling Cora back yet or starting the search for her brother, but he vows to give it a shot tomorrow.

 

For now, he straightens up the den and makes sure the locks on the safe room are working correctly.  He’ll worry about everything else after tonight is over.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will have all 3 POVs detailing the events of the Full Moon.


	8. Red Tail Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek struggles through the full moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to only have Derek's POV for this chapter, but Scott and Stiles' full moon nights will be detailed in the next 2 chapters as well. This chapter is much longer than the previous ones.
> 
> Also, I apologize about how slow I am with updating.
> 
> Warning: Non-graphic depiction of both past and present attempted rape/non-consensual touching.

**Derek**

_The Full Moon_

_On The Road_

Sweat drips along his skin and soaks into his shirt as the August sun beats down on him.  He ran for several hours until he got tired about three miles back and slowed down.  Derek had alternated between the road and some corn fields.  In all this time he hadn’t seen a single bus or cab go by.  He should have hopped in one before he stepped onto the highway.  The buildings had gotten smaller as he continued, along with the traffic severely thinning out.

The last street sign he saw was named after some kind of flower and yet the land all around him is completely dry and dead.  He’d found a water fountain by the high school about a mile back, but nothing had spurted out of it.  Derek is starting to wonder if this area is experiencing a drought.  The only good thing that’s happened is that he hasn’t run into any more wolves - or if he had, they’d kept to themselves.

It doesn’t take long for his breath to begin wheezing in and out of his lungs and his muscles to cramp.  If it weren’t so hot, he’d probably be fine for another several miles, but the sun is relentless.  Derek slows to a stop to squint at the sky.  There wasn’t a cloud in sight.  With a sigh, he looks back down at his map and then groans when he sees another very long stretch of road ahead.

Derek doesn’t fight it when his legs give out, leaving him to fall flat on his back in the middle of the dirt road.  Not like it mattered.  He hadn’t seen an actual vehicle go by in hours.  The only person he even saw was a guy on a motorcycle that had flown by and swept dirt into his face.

He closes his eyes and tries to catch his breath for awhile.  It’s not until it feels like his face is actually _burning_ that he sits back up.  He’d seen some of his human family members get sunburns, but never in his life has the sun affected him this much.

Glancing around, he sees that there’s only one house close by and it’s all the way behind a ridiculously large corn field.  Grumbling to himself, he pushes up onto his feet and follows the path that’s been marked between two rows.  There’s a mailbox at the end of it that’s stuffed full and falling apart.  Hoping that whoever lives here will allow him at least some water, he trudges onto the path through the field.  The stalks aren’t high enough to provide any type of cover, but this random burning of hope of a small sanctuary has him pushing forward.

When he gets close enough, he sees that the house is also pretty run down, but as he slows and turns up his hearing, he picks up the distinct sound of a heartbeat inside.  Trudging his way up the rickety wooden porch, he raps on the door.  It rattles on it’s hinges and Derek fears it actually may come loose.

As it opens, he can honestly say he’s surprised to find a beautiful blonde on the other side.  He had expected an older person, considering the state of the house.  Her eyes are a bright green, framed by thick dark lashes and her teeth when she smiles are almost blinding.  She reminds him a little of this girl he dated a couple years ago.  The thought has his almost smile fading and a dull ache pounding through his chest.

“Hey, sugar,” she says, her southern twang lilting her words.  Her gaze travels over him appreciatively.  “What can I do ya for? she asks.

“Um, I’ve been walking through the desert for quite awhile and I was wondering if you could spare some water.”

Her smile grows wider, stretching almost across her whole face.  Derek can’t stop staring at her perfect teeth.

“Well, sure, honey.  Come on in.”

Derek nods in thanks and follows her inside the house.  It’s not any nicer than the outside and his nose wrinkles as the stench of rotting wood reaches him.  She leads him further into the house, through several dastardly rooms and to the kitchen.  The cabinets are hanging from their hinges, creaking as the wind blows in through the smashed in window.

The woman opens the fridge and then bends down to look inside.  Derek knows he should avert his eyes, but he can’t seem to.  It’s not even because she’s attractive, it’s just-

She flips her hair over her shoulder as she glances back at him and he almost chokes on his next breath.  For a moment he thought her eyes were blue instead of green.  Her lips weren’t as full though.  Derek stares at those instead to remind himself that this woman is not his ex.

“Just water?  I’ve got soda and beer too,” she asks, staring up through her lashes.

“Water is fine,” he mutters, leaning against the counter.

She nods and takes out two bottles of water.  The sight of it has Derek grabbing at it and chugging down mouthfuls.  Once half the bottle is empty he stops to breathe.  Glancing up, her gaze is travelling over him again, her lips quirked in a smirk.

“Thank you,” he mumbles.

“No problem, baby.”

The pet name almost makes him flinch, but he holds it back.  She wasn’t his ex, she wasn’t _any_ of his exes for that matter.

“You need a new shirt, sweetie?”

Derek can’t hold back the flinch this time, but tries to cover it by shaking his head and sipping more water.

“I gotta say,” she says, slowly strolling towards him.  “I must be one lucky girl to have such a handsome stranger knock on my door asking for help.”

She smiles and looks up through her lashes again.  Derek huffs in false amusement and stands perfectly still as she comes closer.

“I bet you’re exhausted from your trip.  I have an extra room if you’d like to stay?”

“Oh, uh, no.  Thanks, but I really have to get back on the road.”

The blonde coos sadly and asks, “You’re not gonna make me beg are you?”

Derek swallows harshly at the words.  His ex liked that too, liked it when he made her beg.  He’d been good at it - with her, anyway.

Clearing his throat, he carefully moves around her.

“Sorry, but I really have to go.”

She doesn’t protest this time as he sways his way towards the door.  Derek blinks when his vision continues to tilt.  Losing his balance, he braces a hand against the wall, gasping for breath as his body slows more and more.

“Like I said, baby,” she whispers.  A cool hand grazes down the back of his neck.  “You’re exhausted.”

“What did-?” he tries to ask.

“Shh, everything’s alright now.  I’m gonna take good care of you.”

His legs give out a moment later and he hits the floor with a loud thump.

* * *

When he wakes, he feels lips and teeth at his neck.  Struggling to pull himself out of the daze she put him in, he’s glad to see the sun hasn’t moved much outside.  He hadn’t been out for very long.  He’s sure that if he’d been human, he’d have been knocked out all night and vulnerable to whatever plans she had for him.  As she continues to bite and suck down his neck, his brain registers just what those plans had been.

With a loud roar, Derek shoves the woman off of him.  She yelps and hits the floor, her head pounding against the wooden floorboards.  Her heart was still beating and he didn’t smell blood.  Though she’d been about to - he can’t even think it - he’s still immensely glad that he hadn’t hurt her badly.

Derek pushes himself off the bed and then sways dangerously on his feet.  He lurches towards the door, bracing against walls and leaning on dilapidated furniture.

He scoops up his bag by the front door and then wrenched it open, letting the sun hit him full in the face.  Derek falls down the porch steps, rolling to a stop a few feet from the bottom.  His muscles protest loudly as he tries to get back on his feet.  Whatever she slipped him is still making it’s way through his veins.

As he wobbles back down the dirt road, he belatedly realizes that the bottle of water he drank from had already been uncapped when she’d handed it over.  He shakes his head at himself for being so stupid and then curses when the motion just makes him stumble again.

Derek makes his way back onto the main road, promising himself to not detour onto anymore back roads, no matter how thirsty he is.  He keeps his eyes on the road until the dizziness passes and even then he continues to watch dust billow around his feet as he walks.  A man on a tractor narrows his eyes suspiciously at him, but Derek pays him no attention.

He comes across what’s obviously some kind of horse ranch, but he doesn’t see any of the animals.  Derek wouldn’t even try to hijack one anyway.  Horses tend not to like him.  The ranch goes on for miles, long enough for the dirt road to become mostly rock that crunches loudly under his feet.

Mailboxes keep popping up, but he hardly ever sees any houses.  They could just be way out in the fields, though he’d think he’d see _something_ that looks vaguely like a building.

Derek finds a large open shed overgrown with all kinds of plants.  He takes a quick look inside, but there’s only what he guesses is equipment for the horse ranch.  In the corner, however, he spots a rolled up hose.  Rushing over, he untangles it and turns the knob.  He’s never prayed before, but right now he’s praying to whoever is looking down on him that water will-

With a choppy hiss of air, water comes spurting out of the hose.  Derek gratefully laps it up, sucking it down probably too fast.  It’s not cold by any means, but that doesn’t even matter at this point.  He runs it over his head to cool off and it soaks into his shirt.  Letting himself breathe for a minute, he looks around for a jug to fill.

“Been a _long_ time since I’ve come across a werewolf,” a deep voice says with a chuckle.

Derek is quick to crouch into a defensive stance, his vision bleeding red.  The man’s brows raise along with his hands as he takes a step back.

“Whoa, now.  No need for that.  Everything’s good here,” he says calmly.

His heart pounds unsteadily in his chest as he assesses the possible threat.  The man isn’t much bigger than him, but he looks stronger.  His muscles strain against his flannel shirt and light blue jeans.  There’s a slight sheen of sweat across his dark skin and he smells of dust, hay, and horse manure.  Derek finds his scent oddly soothing.  He cautiously relaxes his stance and breathes until his vision tilts back to normal.  A hazy red outline remains in his periphery, but he tries to ignore it.

The man slowly lowers his hands and looks him over.

“Now, care to tell me why and how you came to be on my ranch?” he asks.

Not trusting his voice to be steady, he glances to the hose as explanation.  The man stares at it for a moment before flicking his gaze back to Derek.  The wolf lowers his own gaze and for some reason feels the need to bare his neck to the man.  He’s not a wolf, so Derek pushes down the urge.

When he hears the guy move closer, he instinctively takes a few steps back, edging closer to the doors.  The man lets out a deep sigh and Derek wonders if he should make a break for it.

“I wouldn’t bother running,” he says.  “You won’t be able to get out.”

The words have him shaking and he turns to the doors, trying to push them open.  They don’t budge, not even an inch.  Derek whips around to face the stranger, not wanting him at his back.  They stare each other down, the wolf getting more nervous the longer the silence drags on.

Eventually the man looks away with a deep sigh.

“Look, I don’t know you and you don’t know me, but I believe myself to be a decent person.  Decent people don’t just let strangers in need of help wander off into the desert.  You came here for water, well, I have plenty of that.  You need food, I’ve got a whole farmhouse stocked with food.  You need shelter, I’ve got a guest bedroom, or the barn if you prefer.  I know you types don’t take too kind to strange smells or surroundings, so I won’t be offended if you say no, but I can’t let you walk away without offering help.”

Derek stares at him, shocked at his words.  He’s wary to believe him after his encounter with the blonde woman.  When he doesn’t answer right away, the man sighs and begins reaching for supplies anyway.  He fills two large jugs with water, throws what looks to be granola bars and different types of jerky into a ziplock bag, and then shoves it all into a duffel bag.  Turning to Derek, he gently places it on the floor, but doesn’t come any closer.

Still wary, Derek is slow to accept the offering, but does eventually shuffle forward to pick it up.  The man nods knowingly and leans casually against his workbench.

“You got a place for tonight?” he asks.

Derek nods hesitantly, getting a nod in return.

“It’s safe?”

Not answering, the man sighs again.  “Well, if it turns out it ain’t, you know where to find me.  No one and nothing gets in and out of this barn without me knowing.”

With that, he tips his hat in a farewell and strolls back out onto the ranch.  Derek glances around the barn, contemplating the offer.  He could stay, but there’s no guarantee this man won’t turn on him in the night.  It was obvious that he was some kind of druid, most likely unaligned since Derek didn’t smell any trace of wolf on him, but then again, his senses aren’t as strong as they used to be.

Unsure of this new development, Derek decides to continue on the path he’s already set out for himself.  Cautiously reaching out, he’s relieved to find the doors no longer barred.  He gives one last glance to the ranch as he starts back down the road, still surprised at how helpful the druid had been.

As the sun slowly shifts across the sky, Derek bypasses more farms, but mostly desert.  There’s a riverbed that he guesses has been dry for years if not decades.  He only sips at his water and nibbles at the food, wanting to make it all last the rest of his journey.

Around mid-afternoon, he finds a rest area for truck drivers.  As he’s topping off one of his jugs, an 18-wheeler pulls in as well, the driver hopping out to use the restroom.  Derek stares at the truck for a few moments, trying to build the courage to approach the man about a ride.  He’d started to worry about the time a few hours ago, not trusting that he’d make it to this guy’s farm before the moon was up.

Turns out, Derek didn’t need to build up the courage because when the man emerges from the restroom, he looks his way before strolling over.  The wind ruffles through his dark hair, highlighting his five o’clock shadow and the grease spotted along his clothes and skin.  Derek breathes in, but the dust and sand around him block much of the man’s scent.  He doesn’t think he picks up any kind of earthy, spicy, or electric aromas from him, which would tell him he’s not human.

But Derek hasn’t trusted his own senses for awhile now.

“Hey, you got any change?” he asks.

“What?”

“For the payphone,” he clarifies.  “Any change?”

Derek shakes his head.  He’d already been digging around in his pockets earlier for himself.  He’d been thinking of giving Scott another call, but just like the trucker, he was out of luck.

The man nods with a sigh before turning to leave.

“Hey, wait,” Derek says quickly.  “Would you mind if I hitched a ride with you?”

Pausing, the driver turns to give him a contemplative stare.

“Depends on where you’re going.”

“Wichita,” he says.

He still doesn’t smell anything out of the ordinary and watches as the man deliberates.  Eventually he nods and shoves his hands in his pockets.

“I can’t take you all the way, but part of it, sure.  Gotta make a few deliveries along the way, though,” he adds, nodding to the truck in obvious explanation.

Derek follows him across the dusty parking lot and hefted himself up into the passenger’s seat.  Neither says much as the trucker revs up the engine and pulls the monstrous vehicle back onto the road.

“So, Wichita’s quite a ride from here.  Visiting family?” the man asks cordially.

“Something like that.”

Derek tries to remember the layout of the map he’d lost back at the crazy blonde’s place, but even when he’d had it in front of him, he wasn’t positive about which way was what.  He hadn’t thought Wichita was actually very far from here by car - maybe about thirty minutes tops.  Then again, like he said, he’s not a professional when it comes to maps.

They cruise down a main highway for quite some time.  The first town they pass through looks deserted.  Most of the buildings are either boarded up or falling apart.  Derek tries to find signs, telling him they’re headed the right way, but it’s too small of a town for that.

“Name’s Tony, by the way.  Think I forgot to introduce myself back there,” the man says with a low chuckle.

“George,” he replies.

Tony unsuccessfully covers a snort.

“Didn’t peg you for a ‘George’,” he says and glances sideways at him.

He’s got a smirk pulling at his lips and Derek frowns.  Brows raising, the man looks back to the road ahead of them.

“I get it.  You drifter types don’t like a lot of questions.  Answer me this, though.  If I hadn’t stopped to stretch my legs, would you have walked all the way to the city?” he asks in amusement.

“Probably.”

Tony shakes his head.  “Now, what’s so important in _Wichita_ , that you were willing to walk over two dozen miles?”

Staring out the window, Derek pretends to be taken in by the scenery to avoid the question.  The next town wasn’t much better and the only buildings that had been kept in good standing looked to be churches.  The truck rocked unsteadily as they crossed a narrow bridge over a small lake.

“You can lie to me if you want, but this ride will be smoother if we make some kinda small talk,” Tony mutters as he carefully maneuvers the rig over the flimsy wooden planks.

Derek sighs and grumbles “It’s complicated.”

The man barks out a laugh.  “I’ve heard that before.  Must be a girl.  It’s _always_ a girl,” he says and shakes his head again.

At Derek’s silence, he hums in consideration.  “Or a guy.  I ain’t one to judge.”

“It’s not that,” Derek says.  It came out slightly snappish, simply because he wants nothing to do with any kind of relationship whether a girl or guy - doesn’t even want to think about it.  “I’m just seeing a guy about a car.”

Tony’s brows raise again and he glances over.  “Really?  At least gimme a lie I can work with.  You’re in the mob?  FBI?  You’re just posing as a homeless, carless drifter because you’re under cover?”

Despite himself, he finds his mouth twitching in an attempted - and aborted - smile.

“Sure, let’s go with that.”

“Which one?”

“All of the above.”

Tony hums again, contemplating as if this conversation isn’t completely ridiculous.

“I can see it now.  ‘George’ turns his back on the mob to be a snitch for the badges and is now undercover to help bring down the boss.  Or has utterly failed and is in witness protection - which has clearly gone awry.  I think ‘complicated’ doesn’t even begin to describe the kinds of things you’ve seen.”

His tone had morphed from amused to serious within the span of a minute and Derek finds himself staring out the window again.  He’d rather not think of how true that statement is.

The town of ‘Burden, Kansas’ is no less small than the last two, but it’s considerably more put together.  The streets are mostly lined with small stores with a bakery or butcher shop thrown in now and again.

“Gotta make a delivery around the corner,” Tony says, pointing.

Derek nods passively.  They pull into a warehouse with many other truckers already unloading their cargo.  He has a moment of anxiety over the fact that he’s not sure where this town is in relation to Wichita and glances at the sky.  It’s still probably only 1 o’clock and he hasn’t begun to feel any effects besides a vague anxiousness.  He can only hope the trucker doesn’t have too many more stops and that the city is only a couple hours away.  Derek needs to be safe and chained down before the moon hits its apex.

The last few years, no matter if he’s chained himself down or not, he doesn’t remember anything from the night before.  There’s no telling what he might do.

Tony is quick with his delivery and hops back into the driver’s seat.

“How much longer do you think?” Derek asks.

“Just a couple hours tops.  The city is several towns over, but as you can probably tell, they ain’t too big.”

Derek nods in agreement and sits back, trying to relax.  If he worried too much it would only spur the shift on sooner and he can’t afford to let that happen.  He asks the other man if he’d mind the radio and is satisfied when he complies.

“Got a favorite genre?  I’m partial to rock myself.  Not a huge fan of the pop the kids are listening to these days, but that Banks girl’s nothing to shake your head at,” Tony says jovially.

“No, anything’s fine.”

“Alright then,” he says and flips through a few local stations.  He’s hasty to bypass any channels spouting gospel teachings and doesn’t seem a fan of the country songs.

He practically whoops in excitement when he finds some kind of hard rock station.  Tony turns the volume up and Derek tries not to cringe.  It wasn’t the music itself, simply the loudness of it.  For once Derek is glad his hearing isn’t as good as it used to be.  It’s most likely only partially better than Tony’s now.

“Now this shit right here is music.  Saw them live back in ‘15.  You believe that was nine years ago?  Anyway, you a fan?” he asks, still excited.

“I don’t know it,” Derek says.

“That’s a damn shame.  Call themselves Godsmack.  Guess they’d be considered ‘old school’ nowadays,” he says.  He then laughs and slaps the steering wheel.  “Hell, guess they were ‘old school’ even back then.  I’d pay the money to see them again though.”

Derek nods along as the man continues to ramble on about this band.  He thinks he’d heard the name back when he was a teen, but that was a very long time ago.  As he talks, Derek mostly watches the scenery and eventually ends up tapping to the beat of the song.

They pass by some waterfalls he can’t believe exist in a place so dry and stop at a tiny burger joint just outside Winfield.  Tony insists that they have the best burgers this side of the mississippi and then also insists on paying.

Derek can’t deny the quality of the burgers.  It settles his stomach, the hunger pains ceasing for once in he doesn’t know how many years.  It’s not long after that his head begins to lean forward, chin dipping, and lids drooping.  He can’t remember the last time he got a full eight hours of sleep.  There was the two hour nap in Harry’s truck, but other than that he hasn’t slept in days.  As a Beta, sleep had been necessary, but lack of it wasn’t as debilitating as it is now - and as an Alpha he once went an entire month without it.  Granted, he’d ended up literally passing out mid step on the spiral staircase in the loft.  He came to three days later still facedown on the floor.  Derek hadn’t even learned his lesson, either - trying to keep himself awake longer and longer to stave off the nightmares.

He wants the nightmares of those times back.

As if to prove him right, he jolts awake, heart pounding and head spinning.

“Whoa, now, everything’s good,” Tony says, darting wary glances his way.

Derek quickly checks the tips of his fingers, relieved to find his claws hadn’t come out.  He can feel his canines poking at his gums and breathes deeply until they recede.

Even several minutes later, he’s still blinking and fidgeting, the cabin of the truck too small to hold him.  He doesn’t know why, but suddenly he’s got Jacob’s voice in his ear, his hands pinning his wrists, the closet door pressed against his back, and the light sputtering out above them.

 _“You’re gonna beg real pretty for me, right, Derek?  You’re going to be a good whore -_ **_my_ ** _whore.”_

“Pull over,” Derek rasps.

Tony curses and Derek vaults out of the truck so fast he almost falls flat on his face.  He braces on his knees as heat washes over him and for a terrifying moment he thinks his panic has caused him to shift.  His claws are still nowhere in sight, however, and even his teeth have remained flat.

He continues to try to breathe deeply, a part of him knowing it’s just the fear from the memory causing the ache in his chest.  As fucked up as it is, he often finds himself missing the burn of hatred that used to course through him at his old memories.  The fire, Peter, even Kate.  None of them had ever caused this crippling fear at just remembering them.  It had all been a deep seated anger back then - an anger that had him destroying the already burned house and even the loft at times.  Him and Cora had gone through three couches and two tables in the span of a few months because of his outbursts.

Derek would take that back any day if it meant ridding himself of this constant terror.  Sometimes he wonders if this is how Stiles felt back then.  He’d once told him of his panic attacks, tried to describe how they felt, but Derek hadn’t understood at the time.  He thinks he does now and wishes he didn’t.

“You alright?” Tony calls.

“Just need a minute,” Derek says.  His voice was hoarse as if he’d been screaming for hours and the thought has his whole body jerking.

He’d screamed in that closet with Jacob, he’d screamed for hours trapped in Mark’s bedroom - his betas listening and not stopping any of it.  Tears prickle at his eyes, but he’s quick to shut that down.  He’d refused to cry in the closet, had broken down more than once under Mark’s claws, and came close to sobbing at another lover’s cruel words.

Derek has always hated crying and hasn’t shed a tear since the night he escaped Mark.

Shaking his head vigorously, he swallows it all back and locks it down.  He didn’t have time for it nor did he want to deal with it - ever.

Climbing back inside is less difficult now that his emotions - and most of his body - has gone numb.  Tony doesn’t ask questions or pester him to talk about it, simply pulls back onto the road.  He smells an odd metallic odor that hadn’t been present earlier, but can’t decipher what it is.  It isn’t strong enough to be the trucker, so it must be something he took out while Derek was...taking a break.

Outside, the greenery makes it obvious they’ve hit farm country.  He wonders how long he was out, if-

“You know,” Tony starts.  “I gotta say, I didn’t think your kind were troubled by something so normal.”

“What?”

“Nightmares.  I never would’ve guessed something like you would be haunted like that.  I suppose you must feel regret then.”

The nonchalant tone of his voice has Derek slow to catch on.  Tony glances to him, head tilted curiously.

“I was raised to think your kind were monsters and nothin’ more.  Perhaps I was taught wrong,” he says.  Derek’s breath has stalled.  “Then again, perhaps not.”

The truck swerves harshly to the side of the road and everything happens too fast for Derek to react.  There’s a sharp pain in his shoulder that quickly blooms into agony and the truck comes to a jarring stop.

“Damn, missed,” Tony mutters.

Senses kicking back on and rushing into overdrive, Derek wrenches the blade out of his shoulder.  Tony reaches for it as well, but this time the wolf is faster.  He lunges to the side and plunges the knife into the man’s throat.  There’s a wet gurgling as Tony struggles to reverse the damage, but Derek digs the blade in deeper.

The man scrabbles at him for several seconds, but then slowly stills, his eyes wide open and staring back at him.  There’s a dimming as the life fades from him.  It’s something Derek has been up close and personal with before.  It’s one more thing that constantly has him wishing he never left Beacon Hills.

The blade slides back out easily, the red slick against its surface and splattering all over the seat.  The burger he’d tried so hard to keep down earlier comes back up, mixing with the pooling blood on the floor.

Derek curses and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth before scrambling out of the truck.  He cleans the knife against the passenger’s seat in a failed effort to make it less of a mess.  It gets shoved into the bottom of his bag, which he drags out as well.  Briefly glancing to where Tony slouches against the driver’s door, Derek’s mind goes pleasantly numb along with the rest of him.

He slams his own door closed before slowly making his way down the dirt road.

* * *

Derek next finds himself in a high school of all things, sneaking passed students and teachers that have stayed after class.  None of them really pay him any mind and it isn’t difficult to follow the stench of ‘boys’ locker room’ through the hallways.  As he dumps his bag on the cement floor and pries his shirt off, he can’t help think of the smirk he’s sure Stiles would be sporting at him still lurking around these kinds of places.  He really doesn’t do it on purpose, it just happens.

Peering into the mirror, he cringes at the deep wound in his left shoulder left by the knife.  The skin was torn badly and blood continued to gush out, covering his chest and the sink below him.  Derek rummages through the locker room, eventually having to bust into the Coach’s office to find some kind of first aid kit.  He fumbles around with the supplies, reading packages and bottles.

He’s never had to do this before.  Mark never let him fix-

Derek shakes his head and quickly washes the wound with soap and water, grimacing at the sting.  The rubbing alcohol is worse and for a moment he thinks maybe he _was not_ supposed to apply it, but the bottle did say for open wounds.  Ripping open a package of gauze, he slaps it on and then haphazardly tapes it to his skin.

He takes a few moments to rinse the crimson from his hands and wipe down his chest, swallowing back more bile as he does it.  It’s been a very long time since he’s taken a life.  He didn’t like it back then, but at least with Paige it had truly been _an accident_ \- a sacrifice, some would probably call it.  Then with Jacob - well, there are really no words to describe what happened between them.

Avoiding his reflection, he grabs up his bag and dashes back out the closest exit.  A few students eye him warily, but he keeps his head down and scurries further down the road.  Looking around at the town, he curses when he sees it’s another _very_ small town.

Small towns were not ideal for blending in.  He needed to either get back out into the desert or find the closest city - which would hopefully be Wichita.

A large clock in the middle of town tells him it’s already five in the evening.  The waning sun tells him he’s running out of time.

* * *

At the first corner, he sighs in relief to find a convenience store.  He stocks up on easy travel food and several bottles of water.  The rack all the way in the back has an entire shelf full of maps and he struggles to pick the correct one.  Eventually he spots a map detailing all of Kansas.  The locals eye him just as warily as the high school students had, but he ignores them.  After getting the stink eye from the cashier, he quickly bags up his purchases and makes his way into the parking lot.

Derek glances around before using the hood of one of the parked cars to spread his map out.  When no one comes barreling over, screeching about not touching their car, he tries to study it better than he did the last.

“You look lost.”

Head snapping up, he straightens when a dark haired woman strolls over.  She tilts her head, gaze darting between him, the map, and the car.

“If you were anglin’ for a ride, I’d sadly have to decline.  I make it a habit of _not_ picking up handsome strangers, even if they’re gettin’ fingerprints all over my car.”

Derek quickly retracts his hands, which makes her huff out a laugh and shake her head.

“Um, sorry,” he mumbles.  He goes to fold up his map, but she stops him with a wave of her hand.

“Don’t rush off now.  Looked as if you were ‘bout to give yourself an aneurysm with how hard you were studyin’ this thing.  Least I could do was point you in the right direction, wherever that may be,” she says with a shrug.

Derek frowns and looks her over, taking in her casual printed tee and blue jeans.  Her hair is the thickest he’s ever seen, contained only by the sunglasses perched on her head.  She seems harmless enough, but so had Tony.

He shudders at the memory and begins to fold up the map again.

“I ain’t gon’ bite ya,” she drawls, barely containing a nervous laugh.

Derek glances at her warily again, fighting the urge to bite his lip uncertainly.  He can admit to himself that he has no idea where to start with this map, having never been to this part of the country before.  If she can maybe help him avoid the deserts this time, maybe a small talk is worth the risk.

He nods and flattens out the paper.  Derek doesn’t miss her satisfied smile, but valiantly tries to ignore the anxious twinge in his stomach.  He can’t tell if it’s just from being helped yet again by a stranger or a warning from the full moon.  Glancing at the sky, he sees the sun beginning to touch the tops of the trees as it sets.  He has possibly three hours before full sunset and maybe six before the moon hits its apex.  If he’s lucky, it’ll be plenty of time to make it where he needs to be and chain himself down.

Derek tries to ignore the voice in his head reminding him that he is _never_ lucky.

“First of all, you gon’ tell me you ain’t gotta a phone with GPS?” the woman asks, clearly bemused.

“No, I don’t,” he grumbles and nods to the map again.

“Alright, I get it.  You ain’t the chatty type,” she mutters and then lowers her shades to look at the map.  “Now, where you headed?”

“Wichita.”

“How you gettin’ there?”

“Does that matter?”

She snorts and looks over the rim of her shades at him.  “If you don’t know that, then this is gonna be a hell of a trip for ya.  Always a different route depending on transportation,” she says.

Derek frowns and looks down the suburban road.

“Lemme guess.  Either public transit or walkin’?”

With a nod, he turns back to her and she shakes her head at him.

“Hate to tell ya this, but the closest bus route doesn’t go any further than the city.  Same with a cabbie.  If you ain’t gotta car around these parts, you shit outta luck, my friend.  No car at all?  No friends or family you can call?” she asks.

“I’m not from around here.”

“Well, I got that much, honey.  We don’t get a lot of new faces around here and, trust me, you stand out like one o’ those Abercrombie fellas,” she says with a soft chuckle.

Derek frowns again and starts to pull away, dragging the map closer to him.  The woman quickly clamps her mouth shut and fidgets nervously.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to overstep.  Just sayin’ is all.  Why don’t’cha just lemme see the map and I’ll tell ya the best walking route,” she says with a shrug.

Derek reluctantly agrees and she squints through her shades as she pours over the map again.  She pauses to rifle through her purse and comes out with a black marker.  The woman then leans over the map and begins to trace some route from Rose Hill (which is apparently where he is) to the city.  She hums as she goes and her hair flows around her shoulders in thick waves, causing her to bat it out of her way.  Once she’s finished, she caps the marker with a satisfied snap and pushes the map in his direction.

“You follow this, you’ll make it to the heart of the city.  From there, I couldn’t really begin to tell ya where to go.  Never actually been there myself, but you got lucky.  Been readin’ maps most o’ my life.  A hobby, I s’pose.”

Derek glances over the map and sees the route is probably a little over 15 miles.  He nods a thank you to the woman, still surprised by her kindness.

“No problem.  I’d’a felt awful if I hadn’t done somethin’.  You looked all lost and confused,” she says with a shrug.

With another awkward nod of thanks, Derek folds up his map, grabs his duffel and begins down the road.  Glancing back, his nerves relax some as he sees the woman hasn’t lingered on him.  She’s simply putting her bags away into her trunk and getting ready to drive further into town, most likely to her safe suburban home.  For some reason he wishes he’d learned her name.  It was rare for him to find a human, let alone a woman, willing to be so kind to him and not wanting anything in return.

Derek easily follows the route she mapped out and by the time the sun’s halfway into setting, he’s hit the town of Derby.  The woman had marked this as the halfway point and he bites his lip as he looks to the sky.  He can see the outline of the moon as it gets ready to fully emerge and it has his skin prickling uncomfortably.  Picking up his pace, he can only hope he’s not too late.

* * *

He’s crossed the ‘Welcome to Wichita’ sign just as the sun has completely descended.  The moon’s rays hit instantly and he trembles against its influence.  The moment it rises up over the tree-tops, a sharp throbbing pain rumbles through him.

Derek screams and falls to all fours as his vision flashes.  He’s thankfully in some isolated junkyard and not someone’s manicured front lawn.  His breaths come short and painful as he tries to reign back the shift - his canines tearing through his gums, nails morphing into claws, the burn of hair growing along his face.

It takes way too long for him to grab control and force it all back inside.  He’s panting harshly as he pushes himself back onto his feet.

Derek doesn’t waste any more time.  He breaks out into a run, not caring if passerby see the dark blur of him going by.  They’ll gasp and murmur of what kind of creature could be prowling their streets, but at least if he makes it to the farm in time, they’ll be safe from him.

* * *

The hour it takes to get to the farmhouse will be listed under one of the most horrifying moments in his life.  He’d had to stop multiple times to pull back the shift and at one point, he almost failed.  The crimson haze had completely taken over his vision and the only thing he could hear was a frantically beating heart.

The heart was only a few feet away.

Derek - or the small shred of him that was still human - turned towards the thumping, his nose scenting the copper in the air, his mouth watering at the mere idea of a fresh kill.  The heat from the human pulsed through his vision and he’d lunged without even _trying_ to hold back.  His clawed hands grabbed the human roughly by the arms and pinned it to the ground in one swift move.  He’d leaned over, fangs mere inches from the prey’s throat when the babble in his ear finally deciphered into words.

“Don’t, don’t, please,” it had begged.

It was crying - sobbing - and pleading for it’s life.  The sharp tang of urine was in the air.  Derek had paused and listened to it’s words, felt it’s frantic pulse beneath his hands, inhaled the fear that was leaking from it’s neck.

Within seconds, the human went from being an ‘it’, to an actual person.  An extremely terrified person, trembling beneath him, only inches between their skin and his teeth.

“I don’t wanna die, I don’t wanna die,” they cried.

Derek growled low, angry with his own lack of control.

“Please,” the human sobbed.

With a sick twist in his gut, Derek registered the innocence behind the voice.  He had his claws scraping into a young boy.  He was probably only about ten years old and Derek had been about to rip his body apart and feed on his flesh, not to mention his soft insides.  His vision burst into reds and yellows again and he’d quickly shut his eyes, turning his head away from the vulnerable neck in front of him.

It took several minutes of the child’s soft pleads and deep breathing before he reigned it back in even partially.  He couldn’t seem to retract his claws, but his fangs were safely sheathed.  Derek had slowly looked to the boy beneath him, his face and eyes burning with shame.

Wide baby blue irises stared back at him.  Tears rolled down his dirt streaked face, leaving tracks in their wake.  The two held eye contact - predator to prey.

“Please don’t hurt me,” the boy whispered, gaze flicking between Derek’s still flashing orbs.

With difficulty, he had pried his hands off and embedded his fingers deep into the ground as an anchoring point.  The human shook and didn’t move.

Derek’s jaw cracked loudly as he rumbled out an inhuman “Run.”

The boy had whimpered and scrambled out from beneath him.  He was still crying as he stumbled down the sidewalk, his sneakers pattering against the cement as he ran.

Derek realized his own mistake too late.  He’d told the boy to run.  Prey should never run from a predator unless they can _actually_ outrun it.

He’d had to think quick as his instincts told him to give chase.  Knowing it would be the only thing that would stop him, he curled his hand into a fist and slammed it against the concrete as hard as he could.

Derek did it again.  And again.  And again.

He did it until a sharp snap was heard and pain bloomed up his arm.  He did until he heard three more snaps and was gritting his teeth through the agony.  His slow healing abilities kept the pain from disappearing.  He let it work through his system and soon enough his claws had disappeared as well.

Now, several streets over, he can finally see the farmhouse in the distance.  His guilt over what he did keeps trying to drag his attention away, but he stays focused on the house.

* * *

Retracting his claws for the third time in as many minutes, Derek rushes up the front steps and frantically knocks at the wooden door.

“Help, hel-”

With a _whoosh_ and a creak, the door swings inward.  Derek stumbles, but the loud crack of a gun cocking has him quickly falling to his knees to steady himself.  Hesitantly peering up, Derek blinks sweat out of his eyes to see an elderly man standing above him.  A shotgun is gripped tightly in his hands and his weathered face is made of stone.

Derek had thought he’d be younger, but even if he hadn’t seen the age in the wrinkles of his skin, his brown loafers and sweatervest was giving him away.  Behind him, standing in what looks to be a kitchen, he assumes is the man’s wife.  She’s dressed in a fluffy pink bathrobe, her hands wringing tightly together as she glances around the corner at him.

“Please-”

“The boy told me you were coming and I’ve got the barn all set up for you.”

He’s surprised at the lack of twang to his speech.  That seemed to be all he heard today.  Derek flinches slightly when the man raises the shotgun higher, his eyes hard.

“Make no mistake, wolf.  You get loose, I won’t hesitate to shoot.”

The threat only has Derek’s eyes flashing and he doubles over with a tight growl.  The moon must be minutes from reaching it’s apex because his claws grow so quickly they pierce his palms from his fingers being curled in.  Derek’s vocal chords vibrate painfully as a sob comes out as a whine.  His canines had descended so quickly they tore his gums to shreds and blood dripped onto the wooden planks beneath him.

“Get to the barn!  Now!  That way!” the man shouts, pointing.

He doesn’t wait for Derek to leave before dashing back into the house and slamming the door.  Multiple heavy locks slam into place, but he barely hears it.  Pulling himself up, he stumbles off the porch.  He sees the barn in the distance and runs full speed toward it.

Derek crashes through the heavy wooden doors and falls to his knees, hands coming up to grip his head as it pounds with the oncoming shift.  Clawed fingers dig into his scalp as if the sheer force of his hold will stop what’s happening, as if the pain from the self-inflicted wounds will keep the wolf at bay.

Blood runs down his face, dripping from beneath his hair, mixing with the blood still pouring from his mouth as more teeth push his human ones aside.

Derek roars as his neck cracks to the side.  Gasping for breath, he looks around frantically for something to tie himself down with.  In the back corner he can barely make out a pile of chains.  Scrambling forward, he takes one in both hands and tugs at where they’re bolted to the floor and wall.  They hold tight and he fumbles with the first cuff, trying to latch it around one of his ankles.

His right wrist snaps backwards and the chain falls from his grasp.  As the agony crests, Derek feebly tries to wrap the chains around himself, not being able to hook them onto his twisting limbs.

With a pained howl, he knows it’s too late.  His hands go numb and his back arches.

The last thing he hears is the bones of his spine breaking.

The last thing he sees is the growing pool of blood beneath him before the red haze consumes him.

The last thing he feels is the chains slipping from his body as the wolf takes charge.

* * *

Derek wakes with the dawning sun warming his face.  He blinks and squints at where it’s shining through a grimy window.  It takes several minutes for his brain to kick back on, for his memories to swim back into place.  He doesn’t remember anything about being the wolf, as per usual of the last seven years, but he _does_ remember the beginning of the change.  It was just as painful as it had been since the very first night he made the full change.  He’s been transforming into an actual wolf since the night he dealt with Jacob for the final time.

He has no idea what his wolf looks like or what exactly it does when he’s...asleep.  That’s the only way Derek can describe his lack of absence when the wolf takes over - being asleep.  He doesn’t remember any stories from his family describing a shift that way and therefore doesn’t know how to fix - or stop - it.

All he knows is that Cora had feared the wolf.  She only saw it once and it had scared her so much that when he woke the next morning, he found her locked in her bedroom, sobbing.  When she finally came out, she could barely look at him without crying and the one and only time she touched him was when he told her he was leaving.  Cora lunged, wrapping her arms around him, and had held him for longer than she ever had before.

The only other people that have seen his full wolf are a human man he dated for quite a while and Mark.  Even now, after all these years, he’d rather not think of either one of them.  Mark may have broken him in every way that counts, but his human boyfriend had been clever with a sharp tongue.

Derek rolls away from the sun to shake away the memories.  His back hits cold wood, making him realize he’s naked.  It’s not surprising in the slightest.  His wolf is much bigger than his human form.

He stretches a bit, testing all his limbs in case anything is broken.  Everything seems intact, but as he reaches his hands up to work out his back, he sees a strange red dirt caked onto his skin.  Bringing his hand closer to his face, it takes him far too long to decipher what it is he’s seeing.

Heart leaping into his throat, he sits upright and looks down at the rest of his body.

It’s not dirt.  It’s not sand.  It’s blood.  He’s completely covered in the tacky red fluid.

“No, no, no,” he mutters.

Spinning around, his stomach clenches painfully at what he sees.  A severed hand lies next to his own and he recoils.  There are body parts - a foot here, a finger there, a leg under the dining table, a ravaged torso with its ribs torn out lying by the back door.  There’s what he thinks may be the remains of a heart on the couch.  The blood, though.  It’s everywhere; pooled on the hardwood floors, soaked into the couch cushions, dripping from the banister on the stairwell, splashed up the frilly white curtains, plastered along the walls.

The blood sticks into thick gauges along those walls where claws dragged.

Derek slowly gets up and backs away, shaking his head.  There’s too much to absorb, too much carnage for him to take in.

His feet keep going in a blind panic, carrying him backwards out the front door.  Derek stumbles down the porch, sending sand and dust billowing around him when he lands.  He stares up at the farmhouse, shock still coursing through him.  It dulls his body and mind until he’s in a daze.  He moves on autopilot, training from Mark rearing up yet again.

It had been his job to clean up after the pack after a full moon, no matter what state he or they were in.  First task: wash the pack.  Derek pauses for a moment, his mind trying to organize this situation.  He was always supposed to wash the Alpha first, but there is no Alpha here.  He would then go through the betas, including Mark’s pet Kanima (also known as his little sister).

Derek would wash everyone, including the Emissary and the lower betas.  He wasn’t allowed to clean himself until they were fully washed, dried, and safely inside the den.  But there are no betas here, no Emissary, no _pack_.  Body moving through the remembered routine, he picks up the hose by the porch, turns the nozzle, and begins to rinse himself.  The water splashes against his skin, turning pink as it drips onto the dirt by his feet.  As trained, he scrapes beneath his finger and toenails, scrubs roughly at his scalp, scratches at the dried blood on his skin until he breaks it.  His own blood wells to the surface, leaving deep scratches in it’s wake.

Once he’s clean, he continues to let his body do all the work for him, his mind blissfully empty.  He hauls himself up onto the balcony of the second floor, finds an empty bedroom, and rifles through a wardrobe for decent clothing.  Derek steals a soft blue henley, a worn pair of dark jeans, and a rundown pair of sneakers.  He doesn’t think of who wore them before.

Slowly making his way through the house, he finds himself descending a staircase.  It leads him into what is clearly a living room, which brings him right back to the kitchen.  It hits him all at once that this has really happened, that he’s killed this kind elderly couple.

The old man’s wife stares at him with one eye from where her half-shredded head lies on a mangled dining chair.  Trembling, he maneuvers around what he thinks might be poorly chewed intestines.  Derek swallows hard and plucks the only pair of keys from the rack by the wall.

It’s unnervingly quiet inside the house, the only sounds his breathing, shuffling footsteps, and wind rustling the soaked drapes.

With one last look over his shoulder, Derek lets the full weight of what he’s done fall on him.  He forces himself to see it, to not avert his gaze.  Though it means absolutely nothing and the words alone will never make up for what he’s done to them, Derek still parts his lips around an “I’m sorry”.

The only answer he receives is the creak of the wood as the old house itself protests - protests the savagery it was forced to witness under the light of the full moon.

Derek turns and practically runs.  He finds the car he was supposed to buy from the old man waiting in the side yard, by a rickety fence barring a few sheep from wandering too far.  He stares at the animals, wondering why his wolf couldn’t have simply eaten them.

“Why?” he asks it.

There is no answer other than the sheep baaing at him.  They hardly notice his presence other than to blink their beady eyes his way.

“I’m sorry,” he tells them.

The animals don’t accept his apology any more than the house did.

Derek hops into the car, turns over the engine, shifts into drive, and steps on the gas.  In the rearview mirror, the red tail lights have coated the house in crimson, as if promising to never let him forget what lies inside it’s walls.

The tears finally come as he turns the corner.  Derek flies down the dirt road, running from what he’s done, from the guilt charring his insides, from the wolf that continues to howl inside him.

Runs from his past, from what his life has become, what he’s made of it.

It’s the only thing he knows to do, the only thing he’s ever done - _run_.

**Author's Note:**

> The POVs will shift between Scott, Derek, and Stiles. Oh and when I tagged this as 'kid fic' I meant that the characters are now parents with kids of their own...not to be confused with kid fics about de-aging the characters. I just didn't want anyone to be confused.
> 
> If you ARE confused about anything, however, don't hesitate to ask.
> 
> And leave kudos if you like it of course :D


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